ingham Street,

STRAND.

University of California • Berkeley

From the book collection of
BERTRAND H. BRONSON

bequeathed by him
or donated by his wife

Mildred S. Bronson

A

SELECT COLLECTION

OF

ENGLISH SONGS,

WITH THEIR

ORIGINAL AIRS.

HARDING AND WRIGHT,

PRINTERS,
St. John's Square, London.

A

SELECT COLLECTION

OF

ENGLISH SONGS,

WITH THEIR

ORIGINAL AIRS :

AND

A HISTORICAL ESSAY

ON THE

ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF NATIONAL SONG,

'

BY THE LATE

JOSEPH RITSON, Esq.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

THE SECOND EDITION,

WITH

ADDITIONAL SONGS AND OCCASIONAL NOTES.

By THOMAS PARK, F. S. A.

VOL. I.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR F. C. AND J. RIVINGTON ; LONGMAN, HURST, REES,
ORME, AND BROWN; LACKINGTON, ALLEN, AND CO. ', CADELL AND

DAVIES ; c. LAW; s. BAGSTER; j. BOOKER ; BLACK, PARRY, AND

CO. ; J. M. RICHARDSON ; J. BOOTH ; R. PRIESTLEY ; R. SCHOLEY j
CRADOCK AND JOY J R. BALDWIN; AND J. MAJOR.

1813.

ADVERTISEMENT.

HA VING been amicably invited, as a kind of relax-
ation from hardier tasks, to supervise a new edition of
Ritsorfs < Select Collection of English Songs,' I did
not long hesitate to accept the invitation. For, in the
Jirst place, I considered the work as creditable to its
Compiler, from his express desire to guard it from
licentiousness : in the next place, 1 had reason to in-
fer, from personal intercourse, that Ritson would not
have been unwilling 1 should have become his post-
humous Editor : third/2/, because in becoming so,
I felt disposed to execute my office with requisite im-
partiality : and fourthly, because that office afforded
an opportunity of interposing a few cautionary re-
marks between the hypercritical asperities of our
poetic antiquary, and the milder merits and more ac-
complished ei udition of the late bishop of Dromore.

Being fully aware, however, from what I formerly
experienced in conversing with Ritson, and from what
I st til fed in pausing some of his pages, that be-
tween a vindictive critic, whose temper is fastidiously
repulsive, and a scholar of polished urbanity, who
attracts our cordial regard, it is very difficult to preserve

ADVERTISEMENT.

a dispassionate medium ; that the mind will be biassed
by the magnetism of the heart / that impetuosity of
censure is vert/ apt to arouse an ardour of defence,
which a trifling cause of dispute might little warrant,
and which it might still less contribute to adjust.
Being aware of all this, I have forborne to assume the
function of a controversial arbitrator: and in the
few remarks occasionally introduced,! have tried to
keep within the temperate zone of moral candour.
The grave indeed is a powerful assuager of party
feeling, and inurbane must be that hand which would
scatter seeds of aconite where the willow and the
cypress overshade. Had Ritson himself been the
survivor of Dr. Percy, I am disposed to think he
might have testified such regret for his unprovoked
aggressions, as 1 once heard him express for his
disrespectful treatment of Mr. Warton, who endured
" every petulant charge of designed exaggeration"
with a complacency most honourable to his fame:

ce For he was arm'd so strong in honesty,
That words passed by him as the idle wind."

But more on this subject, perhaps, at a future time
and on a Jitter occasion : when, as an editorial ad-
vocate, it will become my province to rebut a regular
indictment, comprising seventeen counts, against the
veracity of our poetical historian.

It only here remains to say, that Mr. Ritson's selec*
tion is given entire, in order to prevent any complaint
of mutilation; and that more than a hundred songs

ADVERTISEMENT.

have been added in the present edition: Some trivial
singularities in his mode of orthography have alone
been dispensed with, from knowing that he intended
to dispense with them himself, had he lived to repub-
lish his choice collection of i Ancient English Songs.1
This it was his sanguine hope to do. But, as some of
our poets have asked and answered, what is human
Hope ?

" A garland on Affliction's forehead worn,
Kiss'd in the morning, and at evening torn !"

" Hope is Fortune's lottery ;
Where, for one prize, a hundred blanks there be.
Fond archer, Hope ! who tak'st thy aim so far,
That still, or short or wide, thy arrows are.
Thin, empty cloud ! which the' eye deceives
With shapes that our own fancy gives ;
A cloud, which gilt and painted now appears,
But must drop presently in tears.
Brother of Fear ! more gaily clad,
The merrier fool o' th' two, yet just as mad.
Vain shadow ! which dost vanish quite,
Both at full noon and perfect night."

" Hope humbly then, with trembling pinion soar,
Wait the great teacher Death, and GOD adore !"

T. P.

ERRATA.

VOL. I.

1'. !9. Note— line penult ; dele Dr.
132. Note — after adduced read//w«.
173. For glories read glory's.
233. Note — dele s at the end of publications,
and add it to composition.

PREFACE.

•PUBLICATIONS of this nature are already so numerous
that, if a preface had not, on any other account, been
necessary, something of the kind would, doubtless, have
been required, by way of apology, for adding one more
to the number : particularly under so plain and unal-
luring a title as that with which the present volumes are
ushered into the world. Every work, however, should
be its own advocate, and so must this, whatever may be
here alledged in its favour.

Perhaps, indeed, if the above circumstance be viewed
in a proper light, we shall find that the multiplicity of
similar compilations afford rather an argument for, than
an objection to, an additional undertaking, upon an im-
proved plan. There is not, it may be fairly asserted,
any one language in the world possessed of a greater
variety of beautiful and elegant pieces of lyric poetry than
our own. But, so long as these beauties, this elegance,
continued to be scattered abroad, suppressed, and (if one
may be allowed the expression) buried alive, in a multi-
tude of collections, consisting chiefly of compositions of
f,he lowest, and most despicable nature ; one or more

VOL. I. b

ii PREFACE.

being annually hashed up (crambe repetita) by needy re-
tainers to the press, and the most modern being, always,
infinitely the worst j (much of the one, and many of the
other being, likewise, interspersed through books of a
quite different cast, some of which are very voluminous,
and others very scarce,) the greater part of this inesti-
mable possession must, of course, remain altogether un-
known to the generality of readers. For who, let his de-
sires and his convenience be what they may, will think it
worth his while to peruse, much less to purchase, two or
three hundred volumes, merely because each of them
may happen to contain a couple of excellent songs?
Every one who wishes to possess a pearl, is not content
to seek it in an ocean of mud.

Entirely, then, to remove every objection to which the
subject is, at present, open $ to exhibit all the most ad-
mired, and intrinsically excellent specimens of lyric
poetry in the English language at one viewj to promote
real instructive entertainment j to satisfy the critical
taste of the judicious j to indulge the nobler feelings of
the pensive ; and to afford innocent mirth to the gay j has
been the complex object of the present publication. How
far it will answer these different purposes, must be sub-
mitted to time, and the judgment, taste, and candour of
its various readers.

The compiler is, however, aware that a late elegant col-
lection, under the title of " Essays on Song-writing," *

* [Prefixed by Dr. Aikin to a * Collection of such English songs
as are racst eminent for poetical merit ; ' published in 1772, and again
in 1774. The Essays were four in number ; on song-writing in ge-
neral ; on ballads and pastoral songs ; on passionate and descriptive
songs ; on ingenious and \vitty songs. In lieu of these detached
prefixes to the several divisions of the work, a single essay on song

PREFACE. iii

may be mentioned as an exception to every charge brought
against preceding publications ; and it, certainly, is very
far from being his intention to involve that work in the
general reprobation. Neither, indeed, will the compa-
ratively small number of songs which the ingenious com-
piler has, according to his own profession, been able to
select, (chiefly, perhaps, to illustrate his discourses on
the subject, and introduce the original compositions,) be
upon examination found, unless in a very remote degree,
to interfere with, or by any means to lessen the propriety
of the present attempt.

In explaining the nature and methodical disposition of
these volumes, it may not be impertinent to premise,
that, as the collection, under the general title of SONGS,
consists not only of pieces strictly and properly so called,
but likewise, (though in great disproportion as to num-
ber,) of BALLAD s., or mere narrative compositions, the
word SONG will, in the course of this preface, be almost
every where used in its confined sense j inclusive, how-
ever, of a few modern and sentimental ballads, which no
reader of taste, it is believed, will be inclined to think
out of place. Of the SONGS, therefore, in this sense,
and as forming the bulk of the work, we are now to
speak.

The plan which has been adopted with regard to these,
is a division or arrangement under the three heads or

when the doctor, under almost compulsory circumstances, that are
explained in an advertisement, was induced to put forth a re-mo,
delled impression of his book, which bears the new title of * Vocal
Poetry, or a select collection of English songs.']
b 2

iy PREFACE.

classes of LOVE, DRINKING, and MISCELLANEOUS SONGS,
This, perhaps, is too natural an idea to be a novel one j
but it does not appear to have been practised more than
once or twice, and even then without either judgment
or attention, and in compilations which have been
long buried in oblivion. It would have required a
very small share of sagacity in the editor, to have puzzled
and surprised his readers with a new, fanciful, and intri-
cate arrangement of his materials under a multiplicity of
descriptions. By such ingenious contrivances, he might
possibly have received the credit of trouble which he
never took, and of difficulties which he never encoun-
tered ; but how far his ingenuity would have benefited
his readers, is a doubt which he does not find altogether
so easy to solve. The general distribution which has
been preferred was, it is confessed, simple and ready j
but the interior order and disposition of the contents of
each department is peculiar to the present volumes, and
required more accuracy and attention than will, per-
haps, be immediately conceived, or it is here meant to
describe.

The FIRST and principal division, which forms the
subject matter for the whole of the present volume, is
entirely confined to such pieces as are generally compre-
hended within the appellation and idea of LOVE-SONGS.
This part is subdivided into many inferior portions or
classes, displaying or describing that sublime and noble,
— that, sometimes, calm and delightful, — but more fre-
quently violent, unfortunate, and dreadful passion, in all
its various appearances, and with all its different effects,
consequences, and connections. These objects are not,
indeed, (and neither necessity nor propriety seemed to

PREFACE. v

frequire, or even allow, that they should be,) pointed
out in the different pages where they occur j but the
attentive reader will easily perceive, on the slightest
inspection, the particular subject of each class. And
they who may choose to consider the above mode ra-
ther a fatigue than a pleasure, are here informed, that
the subjects peculiar to Class I. are diffidence, admi-
ration, respect, plaintive tenderness, misplaced passion,
jealousy, rage, despair, frenzy, and death : that in
Class II. love is treated as a passion ; with praise, con-
tempt, reproach, satire, and ridicule : that Class III.
exhibits the upbraidings, quarrels, reconciliations, indif-
ference, levity, and inconstancy of lovers; and is closed
by a few pieces, in which their misfortunes or most se-
rious situations are attempted to be thrown into bur-
lesque : that Class IV. is devoted, solely, to professions of
love from the fair sex; — 'the moral to be drawn from the
ill consequences of this passion being cherished in such
tender bosoms, by the fatal instances of those unhappy
fair ones who have suffered it to overcome their pru-
dence, will be too obvious, — as it is too melancholy, — to
escape observation, or to need enforcing: — that Class Vt
turns entirely upon the chaste delights of mutual affec-
tion, and terminates with some beautiful representations
of connubial felicity, and a few, not impertinent, admo-
nitions to its bright creators. This arrangement, (which*
is as comprehensive as it is particular, and will, it is
hoped, be found to have been executed with all the care
and attention so new and difficult a project could re-
quire,) the editor wholly submits to the taste and judg-
ment of his fair readers ; who, he trusts, will receive the
highest and most refined amusement, not without consi-
derable instruction, from every part of the volume ;

vi PREFACE.

which, certainly, contains a much greater number and
variety of elegant and beautiful compositions on the
above interesting subject, than were ever attempted to
be brought together in any former collection, or than it
would be even possible for them elsewhere to meet with.

The SECOND PART, or first division of the other vo-
lume, comprises a small quantity of Anacreontics, i. c.
Bacchanalian, or, with the reader's permission, (and the
title is not only more simple, but more general and pro-
per) DRINKING-SONGS;* chansons a boire; most of which
may be reasonably allowed to have merit in their way :
but the editor will candidly own that he was not sorry
to find every endeavour used to enlarge this part of the
collection with credit, (and he may, probably, as it is,
have been too indulgent) prove altogether fruitless : a
circumstance, perhaps, which wiD, some time or other,
be considered as not a little to the honour of the English
muse.

The THIRD and last division is composed of such
pieces as do not fall within either of the above descrip-
tions, and contains several truly valuable lyric composi-
tions, both ancient and modern, on a variety of subjects.
It will be regretted that the number could not be ren-
dered more considerable.

Although no subdivision appeared necessary, or was,
indeed, admissible, or even practicable, in these two last
parts ; the reader may yet perceive an attention to, and
propriety in the arrangement and disposition of each,
with which, it is presumed, he will not have reason to be
displeased.

* [Or. Aikin, in his late republication, lias more happily charat;-
terized these under the term CONVIVIAL Soxns.]

1

PREFACE. vii

Throughout the whole of the first volume, the utmost
care, the most scrupulous anxiety has been shewn, to ex-
clude every composition, however celebrated, or however
excellent, of which the slightest expression, or the most
distant allusion could have tinged the cheek of Delicacy,
or offended the purity of the chastest ear. This abomi-
nation, so grossly perceptible in, almost, every preceding
collection, and even where editors have disclaimed its
countenance, or professed its removal, is here, it may be
safely averred, for the first time, reformed altogether ; the
remotest inclination to such an offence being scarcely to
be discovered, even in that quarter in which licentious-
ness has been so long suffered, nay expected, to reign
without controul, and was, of course, with the greater
difficulty restrained, — amongst the Bacchanalian songs :
where, however, the editor is persuaded, no one of his
fair readers, for whose perusal this part of the collection
is, certainly, neither calculated nor intended, will seek to
detect it. A former editor, a gentleman of taste and
sentiment, has termed an execution of his duty in this
respect, " a disagreeable piece of severity 5"* the pre-
sent editor, however, far from having experienced any
pangs of remorse on the occasion, wishes he could have
had reason to glory in being the instrument of destruc-
tion to the whole species of those insidious and infernal
productions.

Curs'd be their verse, and blasted all their bays,
Whose sensual lure th* unconscious ear betrays ;
Wounds the young breast, ere virtue spreads her shield ;
And takes, not wins, the scarce-disputed field !

* [Sec the Preface to Dr. Aikin's first edition of his Song*.]

viii PREFACE:

Though specious rhetoric each loose thought refine,
Though music charm in every labour'd line,
The dangerous verse, to full perfection grown.
Bavins might blush, and Quarles disdain to own.*

Most, if not all, of the pieces which form the three
divisions already enumerated, will be found more accu-
rately printed than in any former compilation ; having
been selected from the best editions of the works of their
respective authors, and other approved and authentic
publications, or corrected by a careful collation of nume-
rous copies. There is another advantage, which the pre-
sent collection possesses unrivalled j and that is, the great
number of names of the real authors of the songs, pre-
fixed to their respective performances.

By those who, in reading the present collection, shall
happen to remark the careful omission of all Scotish
songs, it may be expected that the editor should give
some reasons why no pieces of that denomination, (many
of which are universally allowed to possess the highest
degree of poetical merit,) have been inserted. It might,
perhaps, be sufficient, on this occasion, to plead the words
of the title, which only promises ENGLISH Songs j but
the editor is not, however, without a further, and, he
would willingly hope, a more satisfactory apology 5 which
is, an intention to present the public, at some future
opportunity, with a much better and more perfect col-
lection f of songs entirely SCOTISH, than any that has
been hitherto attempted : he must, therefore, intreat the
patience of such of his readers as are disappointed by,
or may happen to complain of, the present omission, till

* W. Whitehead. [See the * Danger of writing Verse,' a poem.]
t [This appeared in 1794, in two volumes, with musical airs.]

PREFACE. xi

such intended publication appear. In the mean time,
should any pieces of Scotish extraction be discovered in
these volumes, (which there is every reason to think will
not be the case,) he has only to confess his ignorance of
their origin, and to desire better information.

With respect to the lyric productions of our now sister-
kingdom Ireland, the best of them have been generally
esteemed and ranked as English songs, being few in num-
ber, and possessing no national, or other peculiar or dis-
tinguishing marks:* of these, however, the number is
very few, and that which might be deemed the most ex-
ceptionable, (the hunting song at page 184, Vol. II.) may
be well pardoned on account of the superior excellence
of its composition, to most others on the same subject ;
this description of songs being, in general, as utterly
void of poetry, sense, wit, or humour, as the practice
they are intended to celebrate, whether it be the diver-
sion of the prince or the peasant, is irrational, savage,
barbarous, and inhuman. f

* The distinction between Scotish and English songs, it is con-
ceived, arises — not from the language in which they are written, for
that may be common to both, but — from the country to which they
respectively belong, or of which their authors are natives. This
discrimination does not so necessarily or properly apply to Ireland ;
great part of which was colonised from this kingdom, and the
descendants of the settlers, (the only civilised and cultivated in-
habitants,) have, consequently, been, ever since, looked upon as
English : the native Irish being, to this day, a very different people.
Every one has heard of the ENGLISH PALE.

t It is hoped, however, that the editor's partiality for the truly
classical performance, which immediately precedes the last-mentioned
song, will not be judged inconsistent with his abhorrence of its sub-
ject. He will avail hisself of this opportunity to remark, as rather
a whimsical circumstance, that both these pieces have been com-
monly attributed to the ingenious Mr. George Alexander Stevens ;

x PREFACE.

The insertion of songs on political topics, the best of
which are not only too temporary, but too partial to gain
much applause when their subjects are forgotten, and
their satire has lost its force, has here been studiously
avoided. A composition, however, so humourously
pointed as the Vicar of Bray, or so elegant and pathetic
as Hosier's Ghost, may safely bid defiance to both age and
oblivion : the one will continue to move our tenderest
passions, and the other to excite a hearty laugh, so long
as the language in which they are written shall be more
than a name.

Songs on what is called Freemasonry seemed calculated
rather to disgrace than to embellish the collection. The
most favourite and admired compositions on this strange
subject must necessarily appear absurd, conceited, enig-
matic, and unintelligible, to those who have not had the
supreme happiness to be initiated into the hallowed mys-
teries of this venerable society : and they who have, will
know where to find them.*

Several pieces of some antiquity and great merit be-
ing here and there inserted, it has been attempted to
point them out to the reader, by affixing the signature
O. (old) to those which appear to have been composed,
or rather first published, within the course of the last

and, perhaps, with pretty equal justice : the first of them having
been composed upwards of a century and a half ago, and the oth<.-r
not being inserted iu his own publication of Songs comic and saty-
rical : the value of which work is net diminished by any transposi-
tions from it into the present collection ; though many of his spirited
Bacchanalian lyrics would have done it the utmost credit, had the
editor thought hisself at liberty to make use of them.

* [As Ritson was not a brother of the craft, he has here indulged
his unfortunate temper, and glanced sarcastically at a society,
which the rest of the world concur iu treating with respect.]

PREFACE. xi

century ; and the letters V.O. (very old) to such as were
printed before its commencement ; unless the name of the
author served to ascertain the age of his song with greater
propriety. The orthography of the whole collection will,
however, it is believed, (except in a single instance*) be
found reduced to a modern, correct and uniform standard
throughout ; so far, at least, as established corruptions,
and natural prejudice would easily permit. It may be,
likewise, proper to remark, that there is no one song
here published, which was not in print before ; although
most of the manuscript collections, in the Harleian and
other libraries in the Museum, were carefully consulted
for materials, without any other success than as they
sometimes afforded an improved reading, of which the
editor has in a very few places, where emendation was
absolutely necessary, availed himself. It is not, how-
ever, by this meant to assert that no unpublished lyric
poetry is to be met with in the above noble repositories :
there is a prodigious quantity ; but not a single stanza
occurred of sufficient merit to mingle with the elegancies
of the present collection. It would not, perhaps, have
been difficult to have procured original pieces in any
number ; but the editor could not, consistently with his
respect for the public, obtrude upon them a single line,
which had not been already stamped with their approba-
tion, or on the merits of which they had not had an op-
portunity to decide. This collection does not, therefore,
any way interfere with a publication of such songs as
have not hitherto been communicated from the press.

What is already said has been entirely confined to the
three first parts of the collection : of PART THE FOURTH,

* Vol. II. p. 77. [Another exception occurs iu Vol. II. p. 330.]

xii PREFACE

therefore, (a considerable, at least interesting portion af
the work, not to be found in any former compilation of
this nature,) it still remains to be spoken. This depart-
ment is engrossed by a select number, indeed all the best,
of our old popular tragic legends, and historical or heroic
ballads ; the genuine effusions of the English muse, un-
adulterated with the sentimental refinements of Italy or
France. And without these (which would by no means
assimilate or mix with the more polished contents of the
preceding divisions) the collection, as professedly de-
signed to comprehend every species of singing poetry,
would, doubtless, have been imperfect- Every piece in
this class has been transcribed from some old copy, ge-
nerally in black letter ; and has, in most cases, been col-
lated with various others, preserved in different reposi-
tories. Many of them, however, it must be confessed,
are printed in the Rdiques of ancient English Poetry • a
work which may, perhaps, be by some thought to have pre-
cluded every future attempt. But, in truth, there is not
the least rivalship, or even connection, between the two
publications. And, indeed, if the contrary had been the
case, the inaccurate, and sophisticated manner in which
every thing that had real pretensions to antiquity,
has been printed by the right reverend editor of that ad-
mired and celebrated work, would be a sufficient apology
for any one who might undertake to publish more faith-
ful, though, haply, less elegant copies*. No liberties,

* The truth of this charge, which will not, it is believed, much
surprise any person conversant in the illustrious editor's authorities,
may, on some future occasion, be more minutely exemplified, and
satisfactorily proved. It will be, here, sufficient to observe, that
frequent recourse has, in compiling materials for the present volumes,
been necessarily had to many of the originals from which the Reliques

PREFACE. xiii

beyond a necessary modernisation of the orthography,
have been taken with the language of these antique com-
positions ; unless in a few instances, where a manifest
blunder of the press at once required and justified the
correction. The reader must be, therefore, content to
take them, as they were probably written, — at least, as
they have come down to us, — •

' With all their imperfections on their head.'

The arrangement of this fourth part of the collection
is, in miniature, as near as could be, that of the first and
third. The names of authors could not be prefixed, be-
cause they are unknown in most instances, and only im-
perfectly guessed at in the rest. Nor has the editor made
any attempt to ascertain or distinguish their different
ages 5 a task, perhaps, unnecessary j certainly, impos-
sible. The reader, not better informed, must, therefore,
remain satisfied with this general assertion : — that there
is no reason to conclude any of them much older than the
latter part of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, nor any
more modern than the time of King Charles the First,

A TUNE is so essentially requisite to perfect the idea

are professedly printed ; but not one has, upon examination, been
found to be followed with either fidelity or correctness. That the
above work is beautiful, elegant, and ingenious, it would be ridi-
culous to denyj but they who look into it to be acquainted with
the state of ancient poetry, will be miserably disappointed or fatally
mbled. Forgery and imposition of every kind, ought to be univer-?
sally execrated, and never more than when they are employed by
persons high in rank or character, and those very circumstances are
made use of to sanctify the deceit. [A calm perusal of Dr. Percy's
prtface to his Reliimes, will be likely to allay every ungentle preju-
dice, which this warm ebullition of Ritson's heated mind may be
fouiid to produce.]

xiv PREFACE.

which is, in strictness and propriety, annexed to the term
SONG, in its most extensive sense, that every compilation
of this nature which does not, together with the words
or poetical part of the songs, likewise include their re-
spective melodies or tunes, in the character appropriated
to the expression of musical language, must necessarily
be defective and incomplete. That this character is not
familiar or intelligible to the general eye can be no ob-
jection. It is, indeed, much to be lamented that it is not
rendered more so, by becoming an established branch of
education. There are, however, many to whom the perusal
of music is not more difficult, or less delightful, than the
reading of poetry : and few, very few, are so unfortu-
nate as to be incapable of perceiving the force and beauty
of the language conveyed by these technical characters,
when communicated to the ear. Most people can either
sing, whistle or hum, some favourite air ; and is not that
ignorance to be lamented, which does not permit them to
read and write what they can thus utter ? No apology is,
therefore, necessary for the most useful and essential
APPENDIX subjoined to the present volumes, even to those
who do not understand it ; because they may easily re-
ceive the full benefit of it from those who doj and the
latter will, it is imagined, be too sensible of its use and
value to require one. Every reader, at all acquainted
with the nature of this part of the undertaking, must be
sufficiently aware of the pains necessarily used to amass
such an unexampled number of original and authentic
tunes : many of which are the production of the most
eminent characters of the musical world, and display the
sublimest efforts of genius. Readers of this description
will, likewise, have the candour to make every proper
allowance for whatever defects may be discovered in the

PREFACE. xv

musical part of the work. The difficulties to be sur-
mounted in the compilation were great : many of the old
melodies (especially those of the ancient ballads,} are, it
is to be feared, irrecoverably lost j and, of later compo-
sitions, some have never been sent to the press, and
others, which have, are not now to be obtained but by
mere accident. This excuse is, however, somewhat more
extensive than the nature and circumstances of the case
seem to demand ; as, it is believed, much fewer and less
considerable omissions will occur than could reasonably
have been expected. There are not many preceding pub-
lications which have made this their object ; and a com-
petition from these is not at all dreaded.

To such fair readers as may complain of the want of a
bass part for their harpsichords, the editor will beg per-
mission to say, that, had it been practicable, however in-
consistent with the design of the work, so earnest was
his desire to render it of the utmost service to them, he
would have thought no trouble too great in procuring
their gratification in this particular.* But they will be
pleased to remember, that most of the old melodies are
without any accompaniment ; that to others the bass has
been added by different and inferior composers (a liberty
which may still be taken for the accommodation of those
who require it) ; and that the sole object of this compila-
tion was the voice and song, to which the bass would
have been of no service. For a similar reason, no re-
gard has been paid to any symphony or harmony, or to
the compass of any particular instrument.

* [The editor had occasion to hear the following remark from Mr.
Ritson, when a lady of high musical repute inquired whether a bass
had been printed with the airs of his English Songs ? — " a bass ! what
would you have a bass for ? — to spoil the treble ?"J

xvi PREFACE;

It may not be impertinent to take notice, that several
of the most eminent musical composers have frequently
indulged theirselves in great and unwarrantable liberties
with the poetry they have set : among these, none has
offended more than the late Dr. Arne, whose own profes-
sional excellence might have better taught him the re-
spect due to that of another, and Mr. Jackson of Exeter,
who has even gone so far as to prefix to one of his pub-
lications a formal defence of the freedoms he has exer-
cised upon the unfortunate bards who have fallen into
his clutches : it is well known, however, that this inge-
nious gentleman has increased neither his moral nor his
scientific character by such reprehensible and illiberal
practices. Wherever a restoration of the original words
could be effected without injuring, or creating any ma-
terial variation in the music, they have been, uniformly,
replaced j but, as this could not be always done, the
reader will not be surprised at, sometimes, finding a few
words in the musical, different from those in the poetical
part of the collection. On all occasions, however, where
the alterations were violent and injudicious, the tune was
totally omitted ; and this, perhaps, would have been the
method observed with all those musical compositions in
which the author's vanity has led him to attempt improve-
ments upon the most finished performances of real poets,
had not the superior excellence of the melody pleaded
top forcibly for their retention.

The types here made use of presented the only mode
of printing the MUSIC which could be adopted. The
reader may be surprised to learn that, in this great king-
dom, where all arts and sciences are supposed to flourish
in their highest perfection, there is not, perhaps, above
one printer possessed of a sufficient quantity of these

PREFACE. xvii

useful characters, and that of no other size.* They who
are acquainted with the degree of elegance to which this
and every other branch of the typographical art are ar-
rived upon the continent, or have even looked into that
most beautiful specimen of it, the ANTHOLOGIE FRAN-
901 SE, will have sufficient reason to condemn that pur-
blind and selfish policy, which can restrain and prevent
all emulation in science in favour of a private monopoly.

Impelled by no lucrative or unworthy motives, the
publisher of the present volumes has been solely careful
to do justice to the work -, a purpose, to effect which
neither labour nor expence has been spared. And he is
vain enough to flatter hisself that the public will have
now in their possession, what has been so long wanted,
so much desired, so frequently attempted, and hitherto,
he thinks, so imperfectly executed, A NATIONAL REPOSI-
TORY OF MELODY AND SONG. The intrinsic value of the
work, in both respects, will be left to pronounce its own
eulogium. The editor is, indeed, answerable for what
may be deemed injudiciously preserved, or unjustly dis^
carded. But, whatever may be the defects of any of the
poetical or musical compositions he has inserted, he can
safely aver that not a single performance of either kind
was wilfully rejected without the most deliberate con-
sideration, And, though he is conscious of having ex-
erted his utmost endeavours to recover every song and
melody of merit, he will not be forward to affirm that
those endeavours have, in every instance, been crowned

* [The types for the music in this edition were twice cast by
Mr. Caslon, before they could be employed : and even the second
fount is much more defective in blending the ligatures of notes than
might be wished.]

VOL. I. c

xviii PREFACE.

with success. Some, few compositions there may un-
doubtedly be (for it is scarcely possible there should be
many) which have eluded his researches, and with which
he must be contented to refer his acquaintance to time,
accident, more extensive inquiry, or liberal communica-
tion. The collection, as it is, will, it is hoped, be found
infinitely superior, in every respect, to any publication of
the like nature which has been yet offered to the public,
to whose justice and candour it is resigned with pleasure 5
in a full confidence, that they will not think either that
it is unworthy of their acceptance, or that too much has
been here urged in its praise;

1783.

A

HISTORICAL ESSAY

ON THE

ORIGIN AND PROGRESS

OP

Rational

§ ]. — SONG, in its most general acceptation, is defined
to be the expression of a sentiment, sensation or image,
the description of an action, or the narrative of an event,
by words differently measured, and attached to certain
sounds, which we call melody or tune.*

All writers agree that Song is the most ancient species
of poetry. Its origin is even thought to be coeval with
mankind : f to sing and dance seeming almost as natural
to men as the use of speech and walking. Hence
we find the dance and the song whereever we find so-

* The inhabitants of most countries have different classes or or-
tiers of Songs, to which they generally adapt particular names.
Witli us, songs of sentiment, expression, or even description, are
properly termed SONGS, -in contradistinction to mere narrative com-
positions, which we now denominate BALLADS. A similar idea is
adopted by the Spaniards : and, in France, every division almost of
which the subject is capable has an appellation peculiar to it.

t Burney's History of Music, i. 311.

ii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

ciety ; in the least polished, or most savage nations.* It
is assumed as a fact by a very learned and ingenious
writer of our own country, that the manners of a rude
and uncultivated people, must in all ages have been the
same.f We are, therefore, to look for the simplicity of
the remotest periods among the savage tribes of America,
at present ; or at least before they were civilised — per-
haps corrupted — by their commerce with Europeans. We
find that these nations have their war-song, their death-
song, J songs for the chase, to their mistresses j and,

* M . M. de Querlon, Memoire snr la Chanson. (Antho. Fran.)
t Brown, History of Poetry and Music. Passim.
$ It is a custom with the American savages to put to death the
prisoners they take in war by the most lingering and exquisite tor-
ments. These it is the height of heroism for the victim to bear with
apparent insensibility. During a series of excruciating tortures, of
which a European can scarcely form the idea, he sings aloud a song,
•wherein he strives to aggravate the wrath of his enemies, by recount-
ing the injuries and disgraces they have suffered from him and his
nation ; derides their tortures, as only adapted to the frame and reso-
lution of children ; and expresses his joy in passing with so much
honour to the land of spirits. Of one of these songs the following
stanzas, which are handed about in manuscript, and have not, it is
believed, already appeared in print, are said to be a translation. This
may, perhaps, turn out not to be the case ; but, whatever becomes
of the authenticity of the composition, it cannot well be denied
that the writer has treated the real subject in a manner equally spi-
rited and beautiful.

THE DEATH-SONG OF A CHEROKEE INDIAN.

The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day,
But glory remains when these lights fade away :
Begin, ye tormentors, your threats are in vain,
For the son of Alknomook will never complain.

Remember the arrows he shot from his bow ;
Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low :

ON NATIONAL SONG. iii

above all, those in which they extol the gallant actions of
their ancient heroes. When the island of Hispaniola was
first discovered by the Spaniards, the employment of the
natives, as we learn from an almost contemporary writer,
consisted chiefly in acquiring a knowledge of their origin
and history, and particularly of the noble acts of their
ancestors both in peace and war. " These two thynges,
<( (says he) they have of olde tyme composed in certayne
tc myters and ballettes in theyr language. These rymes
" or ballettes they call Areitos. And as our mynstrelles
tf are accustomed to syng to the Harpe or Lute, so do
" they in lyke maner syng these songes, and daunce to
t( the same j playing on Timbrels, made of shels of cer-
<f taine fishes. — They haue also songes and ballettes of
tc love, and other of lamentations and mournyng j some
ff also to encourage them to the warres, with every of
(f them theyr tunes agreeable to the matter." * Here

Why so slow? — Do you think I will shrink from the pain?
No: — the son of Alknomook will never complain.

Remember the wood where in ambush we lay,
And the scalps which we bore from your nation away.
Now the flame rises fast, — you exult in my pain ;
But the son of Alknomook can never complain.

I go to the land where my father is gone ;
His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son.
Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain :
And thy son, O Alknomook, has scorn'd to complain.

[This highly characteristic composition has since appeared in print,
as the acknowledged production of the very accomplished Mrs.
John Hunter.]

* Peter Marfyr, History of Travaile in the E. and W. Indies, &c.
by R. Eden, 15'77. 4to. b, 1. Decade 3. fo. 139, b. The practice

iv A HISTORICAL ESSAY

we see the practice of mankind in the infancy of creation.
How curious, how pleasing would it be, to be made ac-
quainted with the genuine effusions of the human mind
in this state of nature and simplicity ! And how for-
tunate it is, that Montaigne has preserved an original
Caribbean song, which he does not hesitate to declare
worthy of Anacreon ! The reader will not be displeased
to see it.

' ' O Snake ! stay ; stay, O snake ! that my sister may
<c draw, from the pattern of thy painted skin, the
f ' fashion and work of a rich ribbon j which I mean to
ec present to my mistress : so may thy beauty and thy
" disposition be preferred to all other serpents. O snake T
" stay, &c."*

It is, perhaps, (asM. dejQuerlon ingeniously observes,)
the first time that the idea of a serpent gave rise to a
piece of gallantry.

In the earliest ages of mankind, the chief employment
of all ranks was the care of their flocks and herds j
hence the first songs were, doubtless, on the most natural
of subjects, Love, Beauty, Innocence, the surrounding
images, and the charms of a pastoral life. And, indeed,
as an ingenious writerf has justly remarked, the ideas
of sweetness, tenderness, and simplicity, are so strongly

of the native Americans is much the same. (See Lafitau, Mceurs des
Sauvages, torn. ii. Brown, c. 2.) The Peruvians were a polished
people, and with them melody and song were in great perfection.
Gareilasso de la Vega, in his Royal Commentaries of Peru, informs
us, that their fabulous and other songs were innumerable ; and pro-
fesses to have compiled great part of his history from the old national
ballads.

* Essays, B. 1. C. 30. M. de Querlon.

f M. de la Nauze. See below.

ON NATIONAL SONG. v

annexed to the pastoral song, that, in all countries,
whether they have had shepherds or not, songs, in imi-
tation of what theirs were at least supposed to be, have
always been most numerous, popular, and pleasing. In
process of time, when superstition and gratitude had
created gods and heroes, their praises became a favourite
topic. Wine too, we may be sure, as soon as it was
known, would, while it inspired the song, have its share
in the praises of the poet.

The most ancient nations of the world, the Egyptian s>
the Hebrews, the Arabians, the Assyrians, the Persians,
the Asiatic Indians, are all known to have had the use of
song.* The first of these, as we have it on the testi-
mony of Herodotus, f had, in his time, a mournful or
elegiac song, called, from its subject, Maneros, which
they had retained from the most remote antiquity. Lyric
or singing poetry has been, likewise, cultivated among
the Chinese, time immemorial.^

Song, in Greece, is supposed to have preceded the use
of letters. It was, in the earliest ages, the only method
they had to transmit from father to son what it was the
national interest not to forget. § The songs of the most
ancient Greek Lyrists were, perhaps, the principal, if
not the only, sources of information to their oldest his-
torians. |j But the origin and use of song were, doubt-
less, the same in Greece as they have been every where
else.

The Arcadian shepherds, so famous among the an-

* M. de Querlon. t Euterpe.

$ M. de Querlon.

§ M. de la Nauze, Memoire sur ks Chansons de 1'ancienue Gr6ce,
(Hist, de 1'Acad. ix. 320.)
|| Burney, i. 357.

vi A HISTORICAL ESSAY

cients, were the first songsters of Greece. This country,
fertile in fiction, gave birth to the Muses in Thessaly,
from the amours of Jupiter, in the disguise of a shep-
herd, and Mnemosyne. At first there were no more
than three : they were afterwards multiplied to nine.
Each had her department, and Polyhymnia presided over
song.*

Linus is supposed to have been the first lyric poet of
any consequence in Greece. He was the master of Or-
pheus, Thamyris, and Hercules. The last was extremely
dull and obstinate, and his master being once provoked
to strike him, the hero instantly seized the musician's
lyre, and beat his brains out with his own instrument. f

Plutarch, from Heraclides of Pontus, mentions certain
dirges as composed by Linus ; and his death gave rise to
a number of songs, in honour of his memory, being an-
nually bewailed by a solemn custom. To this ceremony
Homer is supposed to allude, by the following lines in his
description of the shield of Achilles :

To these a youth awakes the warbling strings,
Whose tender lay the fate of Linus sings ;
In ineasur'd dance behind him move the train,
Tune soft the voice, and answer to the strain. POPE. $

Hence the mournful song, or lamentation, obtained the
names of Linos and Aelinos.

Orpheus is, next to Linus, the most ancient and vene-
rable name among the poets and musicians of Greece.
He was an adventurer in the expedition of the Argonauts, §
and not only excited them to row, by the sound of his

* M. de Querlon.

t Burney, i. 319. $ Idem, i. 319, 320.

§ Near 1300 years before Christ,

ON NATIONAL SONG. vii

lyre j but vanquished and put to silence the Sirens, by
the superiority of his strains.*

The Sirens were supernatural, of an inferior order,
half women and half birds. They inhabited the coast
of Sicily, and made it their business, by alluring songs,
to draw ignorant or unwary navigators toward the shore,
where their vessels bulged upon sharp rocks, and
were swallowed up by violent whirlpools. At the in-
stigation of the goddess Juno, they challenged the Muses
to a trial of skill j and, being vanquished, jtheir antago-
nists plucked the golden feathers from their wings, and
made them into crowns for their own heads. f Ulysses,
in the Odyssey, relates his adventure with them, and
gives the song they used to seduce him.

All know how the songs of Orpheus mollified the iron
heart of Pluto, when he ventured into the infernal do-
minions to regain his wife. This poet abstained from
animal food, in order, as it has been supposed, to induce
the barbarous Thracians, whom he attempted to civilise,
to abolish the diabolical practice of eating human flesh. J
His endeavours to reform these monsters do not, how-
ever, appear to have been attended with much success j
as neither his philosophy, nor his poetry, was able to
protect him from the savage fury of the Thracian Bac-
chants.

What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son,
Whom universal Nature did lament,

* Burney, i. 320.

t Burney, i. 307. These ladies seldom used their victories with
much lenity : Thamyris having had the arrogance to contend with
them, they punished his temerity with the loss of his sight. Id. i. 323.

i Idem.

viii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

When by the rout that made the hideous roar,

His goary visage down the stream was sent,

Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? *

The most ancient Greek songs, now known, are said
to be of magic and incantation $ and of these some have
been ascribed to Orpheus.

Music and song made a principal part of every festive
entertainment among the ancient Greeks. The custom
of singing at table is frequently alluded to by Homer,
who is even thought to have written not only the Iliad
and Odyssey, but a number of other poems, to be sung
at feasts, by hisself or others, to the sound of the lyre.
Nor is it the least derogation to the father of poetry to
be found in this character. The bards or chanters of
ancient Greece were treated with the highest respect,
and even regarded as persons divinely inspired, f
Neither does this distinction appear to have arisen more
from their extraordinary talents, than from their ex-
emplary virtues. Agamemnon leaves one of them as the
properest guardian or monitor of his wife Clytemnestra ;
that she, by continually hearing sung the praises of
women, eminent for their chastity and goodness, might
continue virtuous through emulation. Nor could JEgis-
thus corrupt her till he had dispatched the musician in a
desert island. J

The poetical part of the song, the melody, and the
dance, are frequently represented, in ancient authors, as
one and the same thing, and were certainly called by one
and the same name. We find the youths in Homer
dancing to the song. In the warlike dance, one youth
strikes the lyre, others sing the song, the rest dance.
The dance was in imitation of the things expressed in the

* Milton's Lycidas, t Burney, i. 357. $ Athenaeus, p, 11.

ON NATIONAL SONG. ix

words of the song. A ceremony which Xenophon in his
' Expedition,* relates to have been practised at the feast
of Seuthes the Thracian.*

Songs for the table, however, were by much the most
numerous. Originally it should seem that, after the re-
past, all the guests sung, either together, or in their
turns. The custom was, in the latter case, for the singer
to hold in his hand a branch of myrtle, which was passed
from one to another, according to the rank or station
they occupied at table, f

Afterwards, when the lyre was introduced, and sing-
ing required more than ordinary talents, that instru-
ment, with, perhaps, the myrtle, was sent to those only
who were of distinguished merit, or known to possess
the requisite abilities, whereever they might happen to
be placed. | Hence it was that, from the irregular situ-
ation of the performers, the songs obtained the name of
f Scolia,' or unequal , a term afterwards applied to songs
in general. This practice is said to have been invented
by Terpander, who nourished in the twenty-fifth Olym-
piad, i. e. about 6'80 years before Christ. Perhaps the
time of that poet was only the sera of its commence-
ment.

Athenaeus tells us, that the ' Scolia' were originally
sung after the common songs by ordinary persons were

* Athenaeus, p. 15, where is a curious account of a warlike dance >

t M. de la Nauze.

$ It has been thought by some, that when a guest declined to re-
ceive the lyre, from a want of skill, they immediately sent him a
myrtle branch, to which he was, in that case, obliged to sing. Hence,
it is said, to bid a man " sing to the myrtle," became a common pro-
verbial expression ; implying that he wanted learning or eloquence to
mingle in the conversation of men of letters and genius. Erasmi
Adagia, 947. See also Potter's Antiquities of Greece, ii. 403.

x A HISTORICAL ESSAY

over } " for then, (says he) it was the custom for each
fr wise man to produce some elegant song ; and it was
ff admired as elegant, if it contained some precept or
" sentiment useful in life.0*

These ' Scolia' were on all subjects ; but chiefly on
those of love and wine. That "Love inspires music
" and poetry," was a celebrated sentiment among the
Greeks, and makes the subject of a question in Plu-
tarch, f The learned Frenchman, who has treated this
difficult subject with a degree of comprehension and
perspicuity not easily paralleled in similar disquisitions, J
has arranged them under the following heads : — 1. Moral 5
2. Mythological and historical ; 3. Common and ordinary
subjects. Of all which, sufficient specimens, either en-
tire or in fragments, are preserved by Athenseus and other
ancient writers.

The most famous and pleasing writers of ' Scolia' on
love, wine, and good cheer, are Alcaeus and Anacreon.
" Sing me," (says a character in Aristophanes's comedy
of the ' Banqueters,') " Sing me," says he, (t one of the
et Scolia of Alcaeus or Anacreon." The former, in one
of his songs, recommends, in general, — to drink in all
seasons of the year, and in all situations of life.§ The
lyric rhapsodies of Anacreon are well known j they are
pure ' Scolia,' and every thing we can imagine the most
perfect and elegant songs on those subjects should be.
But, however excellent or admirable the compositions of
this great poet are, we ought not to suppose that he was
without a rival. The following song, preserved by
Athenaeus, || is altogether in his best spirit.

* L. 15, p. 693. t M. de la Nauze. $ Idem.

§ M. de la Nauze. || 1. 15.

ON NATIONAL SONG. xi

Quaff with me the purple wine,
And in youthful pleasures join ;
"With me, love the blooming fair,
Crown with me thy flowing hair ;
When sweet madness fires my soul,
Thou shall rave without controul ;
When I'm sober, sink with me
Into dull sobriety.

Praxilla, a learned Sicyonian lady, composed a great
number of historical Scolia, of which, though she was
much admired on this account, scarce any now remain.

Among the Scolia of this description, few are so fre-
quently mentioned, or so much applauded by ancient
writers, as those in praise of Harmodius and Aristogiton,
whose story is shortly this. Hipparchus, one of the sons
and successors of Pisistratus, who had usurped the regal
power in Athens, having publicly insulted the sister of
Harmodius, he, in conjunction with his friend Aristogiton,
slew the tyrant at the Panathenaean games : an event which
was the signal to the Athenians to recover their liberty. *
These songs appear to have been numerous. One of
them, beginning, " There was never an Athenian," is
mentioned by Aristophanes, in his comedy of the ' Wasps,'
where it is proposed to be sung at table by the old man's
son. But the most celebrated is, undoubtedly, that pre-
served by Athenseus, of which the following is a transla-
tion. The author is supposed to be one Callistratus,
whom the present bishop f of London has pronounced an
ingenious poet and excellent citizen. J

* Bnrney, i. 469. t [Dr. Lowth.]

* De sacra Pocsi. The learned prelate spiritedly adds, that such
a song in the mouths of the people of Rome, after the death of Caesar,
would have been of more service than all Cicero's philippics. * Plus

1

xii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

In myrtle leaves I'll wear my sword,
As did Harmodius and his friend so true,
What time the tyrant-king they slew,

And freedom to her seat restor'd.

Thou, lov'd Harmodins, art not dead;
Thon to the Happy Isles art fled j
Where Peleus' son, as poets tell,
And matchless Diomedes dwell.

With myrtle leaves my sword array,
Like dear Harmodius and his friend so true,
What time the tyrant-king they slew,

Upon Minerva's festal day.

Bless'd youths ! with endless glory crown'd,
The world your praises shall resound,
Because the tyrant-king ye slew,
And Athens freedom gain'd by you. *

The song of Eriphanis, addressed to her lover Menal-
eas, called Nomion;—o( Calyce, whose story resembles
that of Sappho ; — and of Harpalyce, were famous love
songs among the Greeks, but are now lost, f

The moral and miscellaneous Scolia, according to Dr.
Burney, are wonderfully simple and insipid. He gives a
literal version of one, which does not, it must be con-
fessed, appear to have any extraordinary merit. It is this :
(but the latter part, which is less intelligible, and, in-
deed, appears to labour under some considerable mistake,
is not translated by Dr. Burney:)

' mehcrcule valuisset (says he) unum 'AgpoMu fja\oq quilm Ciceronis phi-
f lippicce omnes.'

* A different, and far from inelegant, version, may be read in Dr.
Burney's history (i. 469.) The ingenious author is, however, (though
supported by the authority of Casaubon) certainly mistaken, in consi-
dering the song as two distinct fragments.

f M. de la Nauze.

ON NATIONAL SONG. xiii

" Son of Telamon, warlike Ajax ! they say you are the
" bravest of the Grecians who came to Troy, next to
" Achilles. [They say that Telamon was the first, and
" Ajax the second, who came to Troy, next to Achilles.]"

Another, of which, as the same ingenious writer plea-
santly observes, neither the poetry nor morality is very
exalted, runs thus :

' e He who does not betray his friend, has great honour
ff both with gods and men, — in my opinion."*

Alcman was one of the first and most eminent com-
posers of songs upon love and gallantry. He is said to
have banished hexameters, and adopted a short measure
for his verses, which, from being sung to the lyre, after-
wards obtained the name of lyrics. He sung his airs to
the sound of the flute. A few fragments of his nume-
rous and celebrated compositions are imagined to be still
extant, f

Simonides, a famous bard, who flourished about the
year 500 before Christ, composed songs of victory and
triumph for the conquerors at public games. His poetry
was so tender and plaintive, that he was called Melicertes,
( sweet as honey -} ' and the tearful eye of his Muse was

* The author of this Scolium, does not, however, on consulting
Athenaeus, appear to have had perfect justice done him.

* Alas ; alas ! Lipsydrium, betrayer of thy friends, what heroes
1 tliou hast destroyed ; men, brave in battle, and lovers of their coun-
' try, who then shewed from what ancestors they sprung. The man
' who betrays not his friend, deserves, in my opinion, great glory
* among men and gods.'— Lipsydrium was a place in Attica, of which
the Alcmaeonidae (the family or relations of the patriot Megacles)
took possession, and fortified it against the Pisistratidze, the usurp-
ing sovereigns of Athens. The former were routed with great
slaughter.

t Burney, i. 357.

xiv A HISTORICAL ESSAY

proverbial. A beautiful fragment of this poet is preserved
by Dionysius of Halicarnassus. *

We may likewise rank Pindar in the list of writers of
Scolia, not on account of his odes, which, though written
for, and sung to the lyre, are undoubtedly no songs, but
on the authority of Athenaeus, who has inserted pieces of
that description under his name.

Sappho's elegance as a poetess is too well -known to
need mentioning here. The fragment preserved by Lon-
ginus, of which Mr. Philips has given so happy a trans-
lation, as well as her beautiful address to Venus, is a
pure Scolium : as is likewise Aristotle's hymn to Virtue, a
composition which has been always admired.

Almost every profession in Greece seems to have had a
song peculiar to it. Thus Athenaeus mentions the songs
of the slaves grinding in the mill, of the gleaners, of the
nurses, of the labourers going into the fields, of the bath-
keepers, of the bakers, of persons tending cattle, £c. f
We have likewise some account of those of the shepherds,
the reapers, and those who got in the harvest, and trod
out the corn ; of the water-drawers, of the millers, of the
weavers, of the carders or dressers of wool, of children,
&c. &c. J Fragments of some are still preserved. §
The Greeks had likewise songs adapted to particular cir-

* Burney i. 395.

t p. 613, 619.

% M. He la Nauze.

§ The very nature and use of these songs would undoubtedly re-
quire great simplicity. Tiiales remembered to have heard a female
slave of Lesbos, singing the grinder's song as she turned the mill. It
began thus :— • Grind mill, grind ; for Pittacus, King of Great Mity-
' lene, likewise grinds.' This monarch, it is said, using that exercise
on account of his health.

ON NATIONAL SONG. xv

cumstances or ceremonies, as festivals, courtship, mar-
riage, funerals, joy, sorrow, &c. *

There were among these people, as there are with us,
blind men, who begged from door to door, singing.
Athenaeus, from Phrenix of Colophon, an iambic poet,
has preserved one of their songs, f of which the reader
has here a poetical version. | It must be premised, that
the singer carried a raven on his hand, which he calls
Cor one (the Greek name for that bird), and for which he
affected to beg.

Ye \vho to sorrow's tender tale

With pity lend an ear,
A tribute to Corone bring,

Apollo's favourite care. §

Or barley sheaf, or salt, or bread,

Corone shall receive,
Or clothes or wheat — what every one

May best afford to give.

Who now bring salt, some future time.

Will honey-combs prepare j
For most Corone's taste delights

Such humble, homely fare.

* A the. p. d!9. M. de la Nauze.

t 1. 8, p. 3.59.

4: [From the pen of that ingenious antiquary and elegant scholar,
John Baynes, Esq. of Gray's Inn, who bequeathed to Rilson a very
curious collection of romances. By the same friend he. was fa-
voured with the version of the French song, from the * Anthologie,'
at p. xxxv.]

§ The raven was sacred to this god. It was once white, and of a
beautiful figure, but having too officiously reported the disloyalty o*
his mistress, Coronis, whom he, in consequence of that information,
hastily killed with an arrow, was rewarded by its present hue and ap-
pearance.

VOL. I. d

xvi A HISTORICAL ESSAY

Ye servants, open wide the door ;

But, hark, — the wealthy lord
Has heard, — his daughter brings the fruit

To grace Corone's board.

Ye gods ! let suitors come from far,

To win the lovely maid ;
And may she gain a wealthy youth

With every grace array'd.

Soon may she give an infant son

To bless her father's arms,
And place upon her mother's knee

A daughter full of charms.

O may she live to see her son

With every honour crown'd ;
Her daughter, beauty's fairest flower,

Belov'd by all around :

While- 1, wherre'er my footsteps guide

My darken'd eyes along,
Cheer those who give, and who refuse,

With— all I have— a song.

These men, it seems, were called Coronista, and their
songs Coronismata, There was at Rhodes another sort of
beggars, called Chelidonista, who carried a swallow with
them, and are mentioned (according to Athenaeus) by
Theognis, in his second book of the Rhodian sacrifices,
where he says this manner of singing, which was in the
month of Boedromion (nearly answering to our Septem-
ber), was so called from the custom of exclaiming:
te The swallow, the swallow is come, bringing pleasant
" seasons, and pleasant years, with her white breast and
" black back. Why do you not prepare cakes .of rich
cf figs, and a cup of wine and a plate of cheese ancl

ON NATIONAL SONG. xvii

<e wheat? — Nor does the swallow reject the cake of eggs.
" Must we go, or shall we get any thing from you ?
*' You had better give us something. If you do not, we
" will never let you alone. We will carry away either
" the door or the lintel,, or the woman who is sitting
ff within. She is little, — we shall easily carry her away.
" If you bring us any thing, let it be something great.
" Open, open the doors to the swallow : — for we are not
" old men, but boys." *

§ 2. ' What nature was to the Greeks, the Greeks
' were to the Romans 5 as the natives of Greece had no
' other example than nature herself .to follow 5 for no
* nation with which they had any intercourse, was
' learned and policed before them 5' is the judicious
observation of a French author, f The Romans appear
not, however, in the article of song, to have profited
much by the instructions of their accomplished teachers.
Indeed, the history of musical poetry among this great
people, is extraordinarily barren. The inhabitants of
Latium, like those of all other countries, must have pos-
sessed songs of some sort or other; but none of them has
had the good fortune to come down to us. Ennius refers
their most ancient songs to the Fauns, by which, (as an
ingenious French writer, often quoted, acutely observes,)
he has well marked their rural origin.

Horace is the only Latin lyric with whose works we
are acquainted. Most of his odes are real songs, which
he is supposed to have sung either at table with his
friends, to his mistresses, or in societies where men of
pleasure used to assemble. J

* Athe. 1. 8, p. 360. t Abb£ Gecloyn. Burney, i, 490.

J M. de Querlon.

d 2

xviii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

The soldiers had their war-songs and lampoons, which
they sung in triumphs, and on other public occasions.
One of the latter, upon Caesar, is noticed by Suetonius.

In a war with the Sarmatii, Aurelian, a soldier of
fortune, (whose bravery afterwards raised him to the
purple,) slew, in the space of a few hours, with his own
hand, 950 of the enemy. This exploit well deserved
a song j and the following was sung by children in the
streets : " We have reaped a thousand and a thousand
" heads j a thousand and a thousand heads, thrown to the
te ground, have been the work of a single man. A thou-
" sand and a thousand times long live the warrior who
€< has made this overthrow. No one has drunk so much
" wine as he has shed blood." *

The fondness of the Roman youth for songs and sing-
ing, was at one time so excessive, that Seneca the rheto-
rician, complains that they spent their whole time in effe-
minate attempts to soften their voice, and bring it to th$
tender and sweet tone of a woman, f

§ 3. Notwithstanding the destruction of the western
empire in Italy, it is natural to believe, that the vulgar
songs of the Romans would be still preserved in the
mouths of the native inhabitants. During a long suc-
ceeding period, (i. e. between the sixth and the thirteenth
centuries,) which is immersed in darkness, barbarism,
and confusion, we have no information upon this or any
other subject. Songs, however, make their appearance
as soon as any thing. Dante, the poet, who may be said
to have first cultivated and established the Tuscan dialect
and nearly down to, if not (at least in some places) ac»

* Vopiscns, as cited by M. de Querlon. t M. de Querlon,

ON NATIONAL SONG. xix

tually in whose time the popular tongue appears to have
been a corrupt and barbarous Latin, * was a great song-
writer. As he was one day passing through a street
where a crowd had assembled about an itinerant song-
ster, he had the curiosity to listen, and finding the poetry
his own, was so exasperated at the rude and ignorant
pronunciation of the performer, that he could not refrain
from giving him a severe beating, f The Italians have
still a few ballatelle of Dante's age, one of them by that
great poet himself. When in purgatory, he has a con-
ference with his friend Casella, a musician, whom he pre-
vails on to sing him a favourite love-song, of his own
composition. $

Laura, the immortal Laura, amongst her various ac-
complishments, is celebrated by her adorer for the sweet-
ness of her voice, which she displayed in warbling songs j
some of them, not improbably, written for her by his-
self. His sonnets are not, indeed, perfect songs ; but
that they were originally sung to certain melodies, is by
a learned writer represented as an indubitable fact. §

The party described by Boccace as amusing their-
selves in the neighbourhood of Florence, during the great
plague in 1348, with relating pleasant stories, chant, at
the beginning and end of each day, a canzonet, accom-
panied by the lute or some other instrument ; to both of
which some of them likewise dance. Of these songs
many are inserted in the Decameron, and others are said
to be still extant. || While this little society were thus
agreeably employed in the country, large parties within

* Burney, ii. 323. Baretti's Italian Library, ii. xv.

t Burney, ii. 321, $ Idem, ii. 323.

§ Idem, ii. 339. |j Idem, ii. 339.

xx A HISTORICAL ESSAY

the city thought the best method of fortifying theirselves
against the disease, was by drinking and singing from
morning to night.

The Italians still preserve a number of songs upon
love and pleasure, of great antiquity. These were ori-
ginally designed to excite and accompany the dance in
Carnival- time, and at public festivals, and thence deno-
minated Canzone a ballo. The celebrated, the magnifi-
cent Lorenzo de Medici, * the great patron and encou-
rager of poetry and letters, the Pulcis, Politian, Giam-
bullari, and other first-rate poets of the fifteenth century,
are numbered among the composers, and even singers of
these songs ; some of which, it is said, are not over and
above remarkable for delicacy or morals. Italy, however,
though the residence of the muses, and nursery of the
fine arts, does not boast of the number and excellence of
these smaller lyrics. Devoted to the ottava rima, or eight
line verse, (which is still composed by even the most il-
literate Improvisator i, with a rapidity and ease altogether
surprising, and is chanted by all ranks to an ancient-
melody or tune,) it is Jess to be wondered that the Ita-
lians have neglected Song. Their operas, which are
merely vehicles to convey the laboured efforts of the pro-
fessed musician, cannot be looked upon as any proof to
the contrary.

§ 4. We shall now take a view of the progress of Song
amongst our Gallic neighbours ; and here, at least, we
shall have no reason to complain of a scarcity of ma-
terials.

The ancient language of France was Latin, established

* [See Mr. Roscoo's celebrated life of that illustrious character.]

ON NATIONAL SONG. xxi

by the long residence of the Roman armies, and cor-
rupted by Tudesque, the jargon of the Franks, and other
Gothic barbarians, who settled among, or had commerce
with, the old inhabitants. This dialect was called Ro-
manse rustique, or rustic Latin. The natives seem to have
possessed a great affection for singing from the earliest
times. Charlemagne was wont to collect and get by
heart the ancient and barbarous songs, made to perpe-
tuate the memory of the wars and acts of the kings, his
predecessors. * Of these the following may seem to have
been one. In the sixth century, Clotaire II. having ob-
tained a capital victory over the Saxons, his subjects ex-
pressed their joy by a rhimed song of two verses, in vul-
gar Latin> which is still preserved, f The French have
likewise other songs in Latin rhime, of a very great
age. j: This language appears to have been much used
for the purpose of song-writing so late as the thirteenth
century, when, as the ingenious author cited in the mar-
gin observes, it was obliged to acknowledge the natural
right of the vulgar tongue to preside over pieces of vulgar
amusement and pleasure. § Not but that the French
poets had employed their native language upon some oc-
casions at a much more early period. The Chanson de
Roland, so famous, as well in the Gallic history as in
our own, || is supposed, and with the greatest proba-

* Barbara et antiquisslma carmina, quibus vetcrum regum actus et
bella canebantur scripsit, mcmori<zque mandavit. Eginhar. c. 29.

t Nouveau Recueil des Histoires de la France, torn. iii. 505. M.
PEveque de la Ravailliere, Revolutions de la langue Fran. p. 81.
L'anciennete des Chansons, p. 195.

t M. 1'Eveque de la Ravailliere, L'anciennete", &c. p. 195.

§ Idem.

|| Taillefer, a hero who attended the conqueror, having obtained
leave to make the onset at the bat tie of Hastings, advanced before the

xxii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

bility, to have been in French rhime. This celebrated
composition, whatever it was, continued to be known so
late as the fourteenth century, but is imagined to be, at
present, entirely lost. The ingenious Dr. Burney has,
indeed, printed certain stanzas under this title, as col-
lected and adjusted from various fragments by the Mar-
quis de Paulmy, which he has accompanied with an ex-
cellent translation, and musical notes ; but this is evi-
dently a modern performance, and contains a great deal
too much pleasantry for the age it would be referred to. *
St. Bernard, in his youth, is said to have composed
buffoon and other songs to popular airs, for the amuse-
ment of the vulgar : but even these are supposed to have
been in Latin.

army, singing aloud the Chanson de Roland, and, gallantly breaking
into the Saxon host, was overpowered and slain.
Taiileferq5 mlt bien cliantout
Sor un cheital q> tost alout,
Dcuant le Due alout chantant
De Karlemaigne, & de Reliant,
& d'Oliuer, & des uassals
Q' morurent en Renceiials.

ROMAN DE Rot;.

[Ritson produced the following version of these lints, in his Disserta-
tion on Romance, p. xxxvi. before his edition of Metrical Romances.
Telfair, who well could sing a strain,
Upon a horse that went amain,
Before the Duke rode singing loud
Of Charlemagne and Rowland good,
Of Oliver, and those vassals
Who lost tlieir lite at Roncevals.

Another version of the same relic may be seen in J. P. Andrews
Hist, of England, i. 77.]

* See Burney, ii. 276. There are several metrical romances on
the subject of Charlemagne of considerable antiquity still extant: and
some one of these may, possibly, be the Chanson de Roland.

ON NATIONAL SONG. xxiii

Abelard, so famous for his love, his abilities, and his
misfortunes, was an accomplished poet and popular song-
writer : it was principally by his talent for song that he
obtained the affections of Heloise. t( Two things (says
ff she) gained you the hearts of all ; a happy ease in
tf writing the finest verses in the world, and an incom-
({ parable grace in singing them. Ah, what charms had
<e those tender songs which love dictated to you ! what
" sweetness in the words, and in the airs ! They were
" sought after by all the world 5 their beauties were
ff felt by the dullest ; there was not a woman unen-
te chanted with them ; how many rivals have they pro-
te cured me!"* Again: (f You left many songs com -
ff posed in amorous metre, or rhime, which, for their
tf exceeding sweetness, both of diction and air, kept my
te name in the mouths of all. . . . You put your He
tf loise in the mouths of all, by your repeated songs. Me
te all the streets, me every house resounded." f

Whether these celebrated compositions were in Latin
or French, we are no where certified. We may, there-
fore, conjecture them to have been in both.

The affection for songs in the vulgar tongue began
first to show itself in the provinces. It was some time
before they prevailed in the capital, which continued de-
voted to Latin much longer than any other part of the
kingdom. The first songs were those of Normandy, the
most celebrated were those of Provence. \

The most ancient French songs were called Lais,- from
the plaintive, or elegiac nature, it is supposed, of the

* M. de Querlon.

tAbelar.Opera.Epis.il. M. 1'Eveque de laRavailliere. Revo-
lutions de la langue Fran. 206.
J M . 1'E. de la Ravailliere.

xxiv A HISTORICAL ESSAY

composition. The word being conjecturally derived from
the Latin Lessus, which signifies complaints and lamenta-
tions. All the old Lais were not, however, of this cast ;
nor, indeed, is the etymology itself to be hastily ad-
mitted, the term being frequently applied to songs on the
most light and joyous subjects. The principal of these
old Lais, now extant, are those which are introduced into
some of the ancient romances, where they are chanted
by heroes or damsels.*

About the beginning of the twelfth century, or per-
haps earlier, one may date the origin of the ' Gay
f Science,' and the establishment of the singing school at
Provence. Many reasons are assigned for the pre-emi-
nence which the natives of this province enjoyed over
their neighbours. The purity of the air, the beauty of
the sky, the delightfulness of the country, the natural
fire of the men, the tender sprightliness of the women,
and the neighbourhood of the courts scattered over the
south of France, are enumerated among the causes which
contributed to render the songsters of Provence the ad-
miration of mankind.

Under the name of La Jonglerie is comprehended what-
ever belongs to the Proven9al school. And of this body
three sorts of talents (exclusive of the Conteurs, or story-
tellers, with whom we have at present nothing to do)
form the constituent parts. The Troubadours, the Chan-
teres, and the Jongleurs. The Troubadours, a name syno-
nymous with Trouvers, or inventors, imagined and com-
posed the verses which the Chanteres sung ; except when
the Trouvere was likewise an Improvisateur, in which case
he frequently condescended to sing his own compositions.

* M. 1'E. cle la Ravailliere. M. de Qnerion.
1

ON NATIONAL SONG. xxv

The Jongleurs, * who were as much superior to the other
orders in number, as they were inferior to them in repu-
tation, were the players on certain musical instruments,
with which they usually accompanied the Chantere : not
but that the Jongleur hisself frequently united with his
own profession the peculiar arts of the other two. The
individuals of each of these classes founded their reputa-
tion and fortune on their particular skill and merit in the
science they professed 5 and to the feasts and tourna-
ments given by the sovereign princes or great lords, they
nocked from all parts, every where receiving the greatest
attention, and the richest rewards, f

The Troubadours, in point of number, were a consi-
derable body. We have the lives of a great many, and
the names of some hundreds. Among them are enume-
rated two emperors, four kings, one duke, six earls, and
several other noble and celebrated characters, who en-
rolled theirselves members of this illustrious order. Our
Richard I. is a Troubadour of the highest eminence.
Many of his compositions both in the Provensal, and in
the Romance, or old French, are still preserved. He
was bountiful to these poets to excess, and had generally
a number of them in his court. %

* Not (quasi ONGLEURS) from angles, the nails, of which there
is no proof that the Jongleurs made any particular use ; but (properly
Jongleurs') from the harmony or jangling of their instruments hi con*
cert. Jangler, F.

t M. 1'E. de la Ravailliere. M. de Querlon.

t A curious anecdote of this gallant monarch and one of his min-
strels, is related by Fauchet, on the authority of an old anonymous
French chronicler. Richard, in his return from the Holy Land, was
taken prisoner by the Duke of Austria, who sold him to the emperor.
He was so closely and secretly confined, that his subjects, for more
than a twelvemonth, were unable to discover where he was. A min-

xxvi A HISTORICAL ESSAY

In the Vatican library, in a large manuscript of Pro-
ven9al poetry, is a song upon the death of this prince, by
Anselm Faiditt, a celebrated Troubadour, to whom Pe-
trarch is much indebted for his Triumpho d'amore, and
who had accompanied him to the holy war, with the ori-
ginal melody by that bard, whose genius was as much
admired in music as in poetry. He married a beautiful
nun, who wandered with him from court to court, sing-
ing her husband's songs.*

As a short and familiar specimen of the Provencal song,
one may produce that written by the Emperor Frederick
Barbarossa, about the year 1160.

Plas my cavallier Frances,
E la donna Catallana,

strel, named Blondel de Nesle, who, having been trained up in the
English court, had imbibed the strongest affection for his royal mas-
ter, took his absence so much to heart, that he resolved not to rest
till he knew what was become of him. After some time spent in
travel, he came near a castle, in which, he was told, a strange knight
had been imprisoned upwards of a year. This information caused
the trusty minstrel to employ the persuasive eloquence of his profes-
sion to gain admittance into the castle. One day, sitting opposite a
window of the stranger's apartment, he began a Provencal song, which
the king and he had some time before composed together : and, paus-
ing in the midst, the king, who knew it must be Blondel that sung,
began the other half and finished it. The musician having thus ob-
tained the knowledge he wanted, returned to England, and making
the barons acquainted with the place of their sovereign's confinement,
he was soon after ransomed and brought home. The song itself is
fortunately preserved. Recueil de I'origine de la langue Sf poesie
Fran$oise. Paris, 1581, p. 93. Ln Tour Tenetoeuse, Sfc. Paris, 1705.
Percy's Reliques, i. xxix.

* Burney, 241. where both the song and the music are preserved.

ON NATIONAL SONG. xxvii

E 1'ourar del Gynoes,
E la cour de Kastellana,
Lou kantar Provenc.alles,
E la dansa Trivyzana,
E lou corps Aragon6s,
E la peiia Julliana,
Las mans e kara d'Angles,
E lou douzel de Thuscana. *

The Troubadours seem to have possessed a great affec-
tion for agreeable pictures of nature, the relation of pleas-
ing dreams, and other fanciful and amorous allegories.
Chaucer's Cuckow and Nightingale, Flower and Leaf,
(so beautifully modernized by Mr. Dryden), and some
other of his poems, are quite in the Provensal mode, and
not improbably, from Proven9al compositions. But it
was not to the men alone that the cultivation of this en-
chanting art was confined ; ladies of the first rank be-
came professors of the ( Gay Science,' and piqued them-
selves on making verses, and giving an elegant or pointed
turn to a song. They likewise held Courts of Love,
where they determined those nice questions, which the
Proven9al gallantry had brought into vogue. Their
judgments were termed^rrefo d 'amour, ' sentences of love.'
Of these the Countess of Champagne had pronounced
several, and, amongst them, one in a celebrated parlia-
ment composed of sixty ladies, f An appeal against a

* That is: 'I am best pleased with the French gentleman, the
4 Catalan girl, the (perhaps ourar, work) of the Genoese, the

* court of Castile, the Provencal song, the dance ofTreves, the Ar-
' ragonian shape, the Jnliers' speech, the hands and face of the
' English, and the boy of Tuscany.' See Duverdier, Bibliotheque.
Lyons, 1585, p. 423. Rymer, Short View of Tragedy, p. 75.
t M. de Querlon.

xxviii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

decision of this fair judge was brought before the Queen
of France : ' ' God forbid, (said the Queen, as soon as
she had heard the complaint ; ) God forbid that I should
" meddle with a decree of the Countess of Cham-
" pagne!"

On the death of Raimond Berenger, the last Count of
Provence, of his family, in 1245, the court was removed
to Naples, and the ' Gay Science' began to decline.
Its professors had likewise the misfortune to incur the
displeasure of Philip the August, who banished them his
court and estates.

In 1320, however, a college or academy of poetry was
founded at Toulouse. The poets recited their composi-
tions every Sunday-evening, in a garden of the city ; and
flowers of gold or silver were given by the ladies to those
who excelled. * This establishment flourished a consi-
derable time. And some Troubadours and some Jong-
leurs are said to have remained so low as the fifteenth
century.

The r Gay Science,' under the Counts of Provence,
afforded an easy mode for a man to enrich himself, and
even to acquire honours and employments. It likewise
gave great privileges ; and, in courts, with the ladies,
frequently levelled the disparity of rank. At one time
there was scarce a great lord or lady who had not some
Troubadour in their suite, f

A gentleman, who had only the fourth part of a castle,
if, with the requisite talents, he became a Troubadour,
was soon in a capacity of acquiring the rest. Indeed,
this sort of life was frequently the whole fortune of a
younger brother. It was an agreeable pilgrimage, or

* M. de Querlon. t Idem.

ON NATIONAL SONG. xxix

continual promenade. He went from house to house,
from castle to castle ; always welcomed., and entertained,
according to his merit.*

Many of the Troubadours followed their lords to the
wars : where we have instances of their being knighted,
and arriving to extraordinary honours and pre ferments. f

They received considerable presents of stuffs, robes,
horses, &c. Kings and queens would sometimes pull off
their finest vestments to give to a Troubadour of extra-
ordinary genius ; who made his appearance in them at
the next court he came to. The ladies were now and
then content to crown their favourites with peacocks'
feathers j and, frequently, the price of the best song was
a kiss, which the poet generally claimed from the
greatest beauty present.]:

The Troubadour, amorous by profession, usually con-
cealed the name of his mistress with care, and sung
her praises under an appellation agreed on between
them., or which he took care she understood. The gal-
lantries intended for the wife were, likewise, not un-
frequently, addressed to the husband. § These gentle-
men did not, however, always worship terrestrial deities j
Folquet de Lunel professed hisself an admirer of the
Virgin Mary, and celebrated her as his mistress in his
songs and poems.

Arnaud Daniel, a distinguished Troubadour, who is
imitated by Petrarch, and praised by Dante, was en-
amoured of a beautiful Gascon lady. To gain her good

* M. de Querlon. . t Idem.

+ M. de Sainte-Palaye. M. de Querlon. [See also an anecdote
of Anne, a Queen of France, and Allaine Chartier, a French poet, in
Pattenham's section 'of Poets and Poesie/ 1589, lib. i. p, 15.]

.'$ M. de Querlon.

xxx A HISTORICAL ESSAY

graces, he tells us, he heard a thousand masses a day ;
but his most extravagant wish centered in a kiss of her
sweet mouth.*

It must be confessed that the lives of these poets
abound with the marvellous j and differ very little from
Romance. But then it is to be remembered that this was
the age of Chivalry. Many of them died of love. Geof-
frey Rudel, upon the relation of two pilgrims, became
desperately enamoured of a countess of Tripoli ; he flew
to see her, and, with an excess of fondness, expired in
her arms. One of the songs he composed in his pas-
sage is still extant. f The princess was so affected with
the circumstance that, after having ordered him to be
sumptuously interred, and his sonnets to be finely copied
and illuminated, she buried herself in a nunnery.

Guillaume de Cabestan, the descendant of an ancient
family, of which gentility was the sole inheritance, was
page to Raimond, lord of the castle of Roussillon, who
afterwards made him gentleman-usher to his wife Mar-
guerita. This lady became enamoured of Cabestan j but
her vanity, greater than her love, induced her to show
his poetical addresses to her husband. Raimond, mad
with jealousy, drew Cabestan to a distance from the cas-
tle, stabbed him, tore out his heart, and cut off his head :
he got the heart dressed, and having persuaded his lady
to eat it, produced the head, to acquaint her with what
she had done. As soon as she revived from the swoon
into which the discovery threw her, she upbraided Rai-
mond for his barbarity, and declared that what she had
eaten was so delicious that she was determined never to
lose the taste of it by any other food : she immediately

* M. de Qucrlon. t See Rymer's ' Short View,' &c. p. 71,

ON NATIONAL SONG. xxxi

flew to a balcony, and, precipitating herself to the
ground, was killed on the spot. The cruelty of Rairaond
appeared so horrible in the eyes of that age, that Al-
phonso king of Arragon was induced to throw him into
prison, and raze his castle. He likewise caused the two
lovers to be interred together near the church of Per-
pignan, and the story of their loves, which has been pro-
nounced worthy of the pencil of Ovid^* to be engraven
on the tomb. The history of Cabestan is related, with
some variation, in the Decameron. (Gior. 4, No. 9.)

One of these Troubadours, Pierre de Chateau neuf,
was seized by robbers, who, after they had stripped him,
were about to take his life : he besought them, for
God's sake, to hear first one of his songs ; and the vil "*
lains were so charmed with it, that they restored him all
they had taken, f

Many remains of the poetry of the Proven9al bards
are still preserved in manuscript -, of these the late Mr.
Crofts | (whose memory will be ever dear to those who
enjoyed the honour and happiness of his acquaintance,
and in whom literature lost one of its best friends, and
humanity one of its greatest ornaments) had a consider-
able volume.

It has been advanced " that the Troubadours, by
f ' singing and writing a new tongue, occasioned a revo-
" lution not only in literature but in the human mind -t
st and [that] as almost every species of Italian poetry is
" derived from the Provencals, so AIR, the most cap-

* M. de Querlon. t Idem.

t [The rev. and learned Thomas Crofts, A. M. whose curious and
distinguished library was sold by auction by Paterson, in April
1783. It contained 8360 articles, and some of great rarity. See
Mr. Dibdin's Bibliomania, p. 526.]

VOL. I. e

xxxii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

tf tivating part of secular vocal melody, seems to have
" had the same origin. At least [that] the most ancient
" strains that have been spared by time, are such as
ff were set to the songs of the Troubadours."*

The history of these people is so exceedingly curious,
agreeable and interesting, that it has totally eclipsed that
of the French Minstrels, who, doubtless, as a body, ex-
isted some time before, and continued long after the
Troubadours ; but are by no means to be considered as
such an extraordinary or respectable set of men. They
possessed, however, in a certain degree, the same talents
of pleasing ; they sung either their own compositions,
or the compositions of others, to the harp, the vielle,
viol, cymbal, and other instruments j danced to the
tabor, played tricks of legerdemain and buffoonery ; and,
in short, accommodated theirselves to every mode of in-
spiring festivity and mirth : so that they were every
where welcome, and every where rewarded. The courts
of France abounded with them : and, during the reign
of our Norman princes, they seem to have been no
less numerous in England. Many of our old monkish
historians complain of the shoals of Minstrels, which
a coronation or royal festival allured to the English
court.

But though it is certain that the French had songs be-
fore the Provencal poetry was known, it is equally certain
that their best writers were afterwards content to imitate
the Troubadours -, who may, therefore, be still con-
sidered as the founders of the French Song.

Of those who composed songs in the French tongue,
and (as we need not repeat) in the Proven9al mode, the

* Barney, ii. 239.

ON NATIONAL SONG. xxxiii

most celebrated, and probably the first, at least of any
rank or consequence, is the famous Count of Champagne,
Thibaut, afterwards king of Navarre,* generally stiled
the father of the French Song. His compositions, which
are numerous, and possess abundant merit, have been
printed with accuracy and elegance. f Specimens, with
spirited translations, are given by the ingenious Dr.
Burney, in the second volume of his very curious and
entertaining history.

The names and performances of several illustrious
French song- writers of the age of Thibaut are still pre-
served. We shall, however, only mention one of them 5
Raoul, chatelain de Coucy, contemporary and intimate
with that monarch, and equally celebrated for his poetry
and his love. He adored the lady of the seigneur of
Fayel with a chaste platonic affection, and had his pas-
sion returned in the same stile. Having received a mor-
tal wound in an engagement with the Saracens at the
siege of Rhodes, J he made his faithful squire swear to
carry his heart to the mistress of his affections. The
squire was surprised, near the castle, by the seigneur ;
and the heart of the unfortunate chatelain experienced
the same treatment, and produced the same effect which
that of the troubadour Cabestan had done. We have

* Born in 1201 ; died in 1253 or 1254.

t In two volumes, J 2mo. Paris, 1742.

+ So the romance. Fauchet, who has given the story from an old
chronicle, says, it was at the siege of Massoure. Ld, says Joinville,
fut tut le comte d'Artois fy le sire de Coney qu'on ape.lloit Raoul. This,
however, seems to have been' a predecessor of Raoul the poet, as the
affair of Massoure, although placed by Fauchet in 1249, actually
happened in 1 191.

xxxiv A HISTORICAL ESSAY

this affecting story, but doubtless from the French, in
an old poem of Henry the Eighth's time, under the title
of ' The Knight of Curtesy and the Lady of Faguel.'*
Several of his Chansons are still extant. They are re-
markably tender, elegant and pathetic. Dr. Burney has
inserted two of them, with their original melodies. f

The works of many of the old French poets or min-
strels are yet preserved. Fauchet has given a list of no
less than 127, mostly song-writers, who flourished be-
fore the year 1300.

Song continued to be cultivated in France in every
reign, and through all the national convulsions. From
the time of Francis I. who revived the ancient splendour
of the French court, the number of eminent songsters
seems to have encreased : but it will not be necessary, in
this treatise, to take particular notice of them. One
may, however, mention that both Francis and his grand-
son Charles IX. are in the list. In which we are like-
wise authorised to rank that amiable, accomplished, and,
thence, unfortunate princess, Mary (Queen of Scots.
One of her performances is preserved in the ' Anthologie,'
and breathes a delicacy and elegance peculiar to its
illustrious author. The following translation of it, in
the original measure, is given, chiefly, as a specimen of
the French song, which delights in a pointed and epi-
grammatic turn. It appears to have been written when

* [Printed at length in Kitson's Ancient English Historical Ro-
mances, Vol. iii.]

t The Coucys appear to have been always eminently attached to
song : Engueran, who was in England at the time of K. John, and
dyed in 1240, dansoit fy chantoit bien. Froissart, t. 1, c. 219. (M,
1'E. de la Ravailliere.)

ON NATIONAL SONG. xxxv

she left France on the death of her first husband,
Francis II.

Ah ! pleasant land of France, farewell ;

My country dear,

Where many a year
Of infant youth I lov'd to dwell !
Farewell for ever, happy days !
The ship, wiiich parts our loves, conveys
But half of me :— One half behind
I leave with thee, dear France, to prove
A token of our endless love,
And bring the other to thy mind.

We shall now close our account of the French Song.
The age of Lewis XIV, improved it along with every
thing else. But it is said to have declined since, and to
be at present far unequal to what it was. The spirited
and judicious author so often cited in the margin has
enumerated and characterised most of the writers of ce-
lebrity or merit from the sixteenth century to nearly his
own time. The number of songs and ballads which the
French have is prodigious.

" If it were possible (says this very ingenious and
elegant writer) to collect all the historical songs written
ft since the commencement of the monarchy, under each
<f reign, we should be furnished with the most curious
(C and rich collection of anecdotes. In proportion as
" the French language has been formed, polished and
ff enriched, the more has poetry been cultivated with us,
t( the more has Song (a species so agreeable to our
" natural gaiety, and moreover within every person's ca-
" pacity, if not always the most easy) become familiar
" to us. Thus the reign of Lewis XIV. should have
" produced, as it certainly did produce, more songsters

xxxvi A HISTORICAL ESSAY

' ' and songs than all the other reigns. One might form
' ' a library with the historical songs only, of which there
ee are, in the cabinets, collections more or less numerous.
' f With respect to gallant and Bacchanalian songs, printed,
" engraved or in manuscript, we are lost in the number
<f of the volumes.

" An exact and successive history of the last reign
" (i. e. that of Lewis XIV.) all in songs, would neither
"be an impracticable work, nor perhaps a despicable
" attempt. Since the birth of our princes, which some
tf chanting muses always take care to celebrate, few of
" the transactions of their life, known to the public, pass
" without some couplet which makes an epocha, and
f( these couplets are the medals of that class of the
<e curious who form collections or portfolios.

" In time of war there is no battle won or lost with-
" out a ' Vaudeville ; ' the Frenchman sings his con-
<( quests, his prosperity, his defeats, even his miseries,
" and his misfortunes. Conquering or conquered, in
ff plenty or in want, happy or unhappy, sorrowful or
" gay> ne always sings j and one would say that the
<l song is his natural expression. In fine, in all situ-
<f ations in which we would speak of the French, we
" might always ask, as the late king of Sardinia did —
" ' Well ! how goes the little song ?'"

§ 5. Spain has been long and justly famous for the
multiplicity and excellence of her songs and ballads,
which the natives call Canciones, Romances, and Coplas.
Their most ancient lyric compositions, at present known,
are Las coplas de la zarabanda, common vulgar songs, of
an amorous, satirical or jocose turn, to light quick
movements ; originally no doubt used for the dance, and

ON NATIONAL SONG. xxxvii

generally sung at weddings, feasts, and other convivial
meetings. These, which are conjectured to be as old as
even the twelfth century,* answer to the Canzone a ballo
of the Italians : and it is certain that this was the primi-
tive use of poetry and music in all countries.

The Spaniards had anciently their Decidores or Troba-
dores, their Copleras and their Juglares, all signifying a
maker, and, perhaps, singer of songs by profession.
They likewise called the poetical art la gaia dencia.
For this last name, at least, they seem to have been in-
debted to the French. Toward the end of the fourteenth
century, John I. king of Arragon, sent ambassadors to
the king of France, requesting him to command the
college of Troubadours at Toulouse to furnish him with
certain professors, that he might establish in his domi-
nions the study of the f Gay Science :' of such national
importance were in those days considered the cultivation
and improvement of poetry and song ! Two of this
body were accordingly dispatched to Barcelona, where
they formed a new consistory for their favourite art,
which remained till the death of Martin, the successor
of John.f

Don Inigo Lopez de Mendoza, Marquis de Santa J Jul-

* P. Sarmiento, Memorias para la historia de la poesia, y poetas
Espan'oles. Madrid, 1775, 4to. p. 230.

t Idem, § 770. This learned writer would not perhaps have
allowed the justice of the above inference. He contends (§ 764)
that Lyric poetry, having been introduced into Spain by the Moors,
travelled through Catalonia into Provence ; whence it afterwards
returned (as mentioned in the text), by the way of Toulouse, to
Barcelona, and thence passed into Andalucia and the Castiles,
where it had first set out.

| Vulgarly Santillana, a brave cavalier, and a famous poet ; born
1398; dyed 1458.

xxxviii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

liana, in a curious treatise on the origin and history of
the Castilian poetry , written about the year 1440,* men-
tions, as an excellent composer, and admirable musician,
of his own time, one Mosen (Don or Master) Jorge de
Sant Jorde, a Valencian, the author of a poem entitled
la Fusion de Amor, in which he had introduced many
songs of merit, some of which were, then, very an-
cient, f He describes another as un gran Trobador, and
a person of a highly elevated spirit. A third, of whom
he likewise speaks, was reported to have died in Galicia
for the love of a princess of Portugal : J a species of
misfortune which frequently happened to the Trouba-
dours of Provence. He even inserts the beginning of
one of the love-songs of a certain amorous bard who
composed nothing else, § and gives the names and
characters of several other poets and decidores, distin-

* [Mr. Pinkerton describes it to have beeu written about 1455.
See his Preface to Barbonr's Bruce, p. vi.]

t The reverend Mr. Warton, in his " History of English Poetry,"
a work replete with errors and misinformation, gives this poet ti:e
name of Messen Jordi, and asserts him to have been imitated by Pe-
trarch ; without recollecting the difficulty which the latter must have
been under to copy from a writer not born till after his decease.
The direct reverse is the fact : Mosen Jorge was the imitator of Pe-
trarch. [Had Ritson's " Observations" on Mr. Warton's History
of English Poetry been intended to benefit the public, and not
depreciate an individual, they might have been rendered both useful
and acceptable ; but their utility is obscured by an affected quaint-
ness, and their acuteness is countervailed by a disgusting vulgarism :
nor are all liis charges founded. From the present censure, which
had been first broached in his "Observations," Mr. Warton was ably
vindicated by the rev. Thomas Russell, an accomplished scholar,
and a fellow of New College, Oxford, under the signature A. S. in
Gent. Mag. for Dec. 1782.]

J Sarmiento, p. 153, 154, 222.

$ Idem, p. 155.

ON NATIONAL SONG. xxxix

guished, no doubt, in that age, by their celebrity and
merit. Songs by many of these, most, or all, perhaps,
ancient Coplars, are, with great probability, to be found
among the many thousands preserved in the Cancionero
and Romancero general, and other collections of the
same nature, of which there are several volumes, some
very bulky.

The old composers of the Romances and Coplas thought
it sufficient to use a certain limited number of feet or syl-
lables, resembling the rythmus of the Greek and Latin
poets. When rhyme, or a correspondent termination of
particular lines, was required ; it seems to have been
enough if the final words agreed in the same vowels,
the consonants being entirely disregarded. A practice
which is still adopted as good rhyme by the modern in-
ventors of these popular performances.*

Numberless are the ballads which the Spaniards have
on the story of Charlemagne and the twelve peers of
France -, of Bernardo del Carpio 5 their last gothic king
Rodrigo 5 the Cid, and others of their ancient heroes ;
but particularly on Moorish subjects, and the conflicts
between those people and the Spanish cavaliers. A beau-
tiful specimen, excellently translated by Bishop Percy, is
inserted in the ' Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. 'f

* Idem, p. 152. In the Obras de Don Luis de Gongora (I'mcom*
parable Don Louis de Gongora, le plus beau gtnie que VEspagne ait
jamais produit) Brus. 1659, 4to. are numerous specimens of Ko-
mance writing, and indeed of every other species of Spanish poetry.
See ' Gil Bias,' 1. 7, c. 13.

t Yol.i. p. 337, beginning

Rio verde, rio verde.
Elegantly rendered

* Gentle river, gentle river.'

Though the ingenious translator did not, it seems, then know that
Kioverde is, in this instance, a proper name.

xl A HISTORICAL ESSAY

The earliest of these compositions is thought to be tan
Coplas de Calainos. This romance relates the adventure
of a certain Arab, so called,, an officer of the great Al-
manzor, who, to gain that prince's daughter, sets out,
at her command, to fetch the heads of Rowland, Oliver,
and Reynold, the three most famous and valiant of the
twelve peers of France : he is met, near Paris, by a
champion, who cuts off his head and presents it to Char-
lemagne.* But even this can scarcely be older than the
latter part of the fifteenth century ; when the conquest
of Granada furnished the Spanish poets with a favour-
able opportunity to exult over the vanquished Moors 5
and when Pulci and Boiardo had familiarised the story of
the Paladins. Most of these romances are preserved in
the collections already mentioned, and all of them are
prodigious favourites with the common people, who
have numbers by heart, which they are perpetually
chanting, f

Sarmiento, a sagacious and intelligent writer, is of
opinion, that some few years after the time of the twelve
peers, of Bernardo del Carpio, the Cid, and others,
various romances were composed in their praise 5 and
were those which the Copleros, Trobadores, and Juglares,
and, in short, all the lower class of people, sung at their
feasts. The greatest part of these, he thinks, not hav-
ing been committed to writing, were in time lost j and
such as were preserved by memory and oral tradition

* Sarmiento, p. 232.

t Will not the reader immediately recollect the peasant who
passes Don Quixote and his trusty squire, in the streets of Toboso,
canlando aquel Romance que dize: mala la huvlstes Franceses, en essu
de Roncesvalles ; and the curious conversation which ensues thereon ?
(P.2,c.9.)

ON NATIONAL SONG. xli

were afterwards so much altered, when people begun to
write them in modern Castilian, that they could not pos-
sibly resemble their originals in language, though they
would undoubtedly continue the same in substance, This,
he says, becomes evident, when it is considered that the
Chronica general de Esparia, written about the middle of
the thirteenth century, and other books of the same an-
tiquity, frequently cite the songs and sayings of the
Juglars or vulgar poets of that, or a preceding age. He,
therefore, concludes, that, though the Romances now ex-
tant were not written before the end of the fifteenth
century, most of them were then only altered or mo-
dernised from the compositions of the twelfth.* An
idea which one would more readily have adopted, if the
good -father had produced or referred to a single line
upon the story of Charlemagne or the Paladins prior to
the first of those a?ras. This objection, however, it
must be confessed, does not extend to the songs or
ballads upon other subjects, many of which may un-
doubtedly be much older, f

Some of these romances or popular ballads are fre-
quently cited or alluded to in Don Quixote 5 but the

* § 548, 550.

t In the ancient romance of TIRANT LO BLANCH, written in the
Valencian dialect, before the year 1460, Hippolito, the empress's
gallant, prays her, one day, as they are sitting together, to sing him a
song. To please him, therefore, she sings, in a low voice, "«»
" romaiiQ . . . de Tristany co se planyia de la lancada del rey March ;"
' a lay or song of Tristan, in which he complains of the blow of a
* lance he had received from King Mark.' This was, doubtless, some
well-known Spanish ballad- of the author's time; and is represented
to have been so tender, that Hippolito could not refrain from tears ;
" ab la dollar del cant, destillaren dels seus vl(s viues lagremes." —
(Capitol, cclxiiij.)

1

xlii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

translators have uniformly confounded them with books
of chivalry, which the word never signifies in Spanish.
A more literal and correct version of this admirable his-
tory, (of which a very elegant and curious edition was lately
published at Madrid,) has long been, and is likely enough
to remain, among the desiderata of English literature.

The rustics of Spain, like the Improvisatori of Italy,
retain, to this day, the talent of extemporal poetry ; and
sing, as it were, by inspiration.* In Galicia the women
are not only poets but musicians, and compose as well
the songs, (which are generally dialogues between a
woman and a man, the female being always the prin-
cipal personage,) as the melodies or tunes to which they
would have them sung ; and this by pure nature, with-
out the least idea of the musical art.f The poetry and
poets of this province appear to have enjoyed a distin-
guished pre-eminence from the most remote antiquity.

Portugal, which is here noticed only as a province of
Spain, claims a very early and intimate acquaintance with
the Lyric Muse. To prove it, there are two Cancioneros
or collections extant, which contain many songs of great
antiquity and merit. Some of these are by K. Dionysius,
who dyed in 1325. This prince was grandson to Alonso
the Wise, king of Castile, who was likewise an eminent
poet. A few others are by Peter I. who died in 1367.
The whole number of poets whose compositions are pre-
served in these volumes is said to be immense. Both
are excessively rare. The lively genius and spirit which
appear to have characterised the ancient Portuguese, are
not, however, at present visible among their descendants.

* See a most curious and entertaining account of one of tho?e
geniuses (a muleteer) in Baretti's Journey through Spain.
t Sarmiento, p. 238.

ON NATIONAL SONG.

xliii

But, without further notification of the provinces or
aeras in which poetry and song appear to have been most
cultivated, popular and successful in this romantic country,
it may be sufficient to adopt the words of the excellent
writer so often quoted : " en qualquiera edad, (says he)
" en qualquiera lengua, y en qualquiera dominio,* siempre
" los Esparioles han sido muy aficionados a la Poesla, Mu-
<( sica, Bayles, y regocijos inocentes."-\-

§ 6. In an enquiry regarding the genius and language
of the Italians, the French, and the Spaniards, one is
naturally led to place them next to the Romans, on ac-
count of their more intimate and peculiar connection
with that nation, without paying much attention to the
origin of the people theirselves : a particular to which
we shall in the remainder of this slight essay, attempt to
adhere.

That the Celts, a most ancient and extensive European
nation, of whose origin and early history we are entirely
ignorant, and from whom the Welsh, the Irish, and the
Scotish-highlanders claim to be descended, had songs
among them, is a circumstance of which, had there been
no direct evidence to the fact, we could scarcely have
doubted. <c The Celtse," says Posidonius the Apamean,
in the twenty-third book of his histories, " even in
" making war, carry with them table -companions whom
" they call parasites. These men celebrate the praises
" of their masters both in public, where a croud is col-

* The reader will recollect that the Castilian (which we cal
Spanish) is not the only language used in Spain, and that this king-
dom has not always been under the sway of a single monarch.

t Sarmiento, § 539.

xhV A HISTORICAL ESSAY

( ' lected together ; and privately, to separate individuals
" who will hear them. And these songsters of theirs
te are the men called Bards."* We have the testimony
of very early writers to prove, that the bards or poets of
Gaul and Britain recorded the valiant acts of their illus-
trious men, which they sung to the harp j that they
likewise composed songs of praise and satire j and that
their authority was such, that armies, on the point of
engaging, would separate on their approach, as if
charmed by the power of their songs. f The character
of the British bards is supposed to have continued the
same, long after the conversion of that people to Chris-
tianity, and the subsequent conquest of the country by
their Saxon allies. The Welsh still celebrate the names
of Taliesin, Lywarch Hen, and others j bards who flou-
rished in the sixth century, and of whose works they
have, at this day, considerable remains. J We find that
the bards had not lost their primitive influence over the
people even in the time of our Edward I. who was so
irritated at the continual insurrections and disturbances
fomented by their songs, that he caused most of them to
be hanged by martial law : § an event which has been im-

* Athenseus, p. 246.

t Amniia. Marcel. I. xvi. Diodo. 1. v. (Brown, 201.)

f [" They who believe in the rhiming Welsh poetry ascribed to
" Taliesin and other bards of the sixth century, may enjoy their own
" credulity," says Mr. Pinkerton, in a preface before cited. This
enjoyment will certainly be heightened by turning to Jones's Bardic
Relicks, and to the Heroic Elegies and other pieces of Llywarch
Hen, published by the intelligent Mr. Owen. A complete refuta-
tion of the suspicion of forgery entertained by Pinkerton, has been
published by the learned and most candid Mr. Sharon Turner, the
elaborate historian of the Anglo-Saxons.]

$ Sir J. Wynne's history of the Gwedir family.

ON NATIONAL SONG. xlv

mortalized by the sublime genius of the English Pindar.
Many songs of great antiquity are said to be still extant
in Wales ; specimens of which have been published by
the reverend Mr. Evans, and others.* Dr. Burney men-
tions a collection, with the original melodies, noted for
the harp, the contents of which are thought to be nearly
as old as the year llOO.f

That the bards were not exterminated by the savage
policy of Edward, and such of his successors as adopted
the same effectual method of putting them to silence, but
that, on the contrary, they had, in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, grown into " an intolerable multitude," and
committed " shameless disorders" in North Wales, ap-
pears from a curious record communicated to Dr. Brown
by INJr. Evans, and printed by both..! This is a com-
mission by that princess to certain knights and esquires
of the principality, authorising them by open proclama-
tion to summon all persons intending to live ' ' by name
" or colour of minstrels, rythmers or bards," and to
license such as should be found worthy to exercise the
profession. These assemblies had, it seems, been for-
merly in use ; and the family of Mostyn of Mostyn, had
enjoyed the privilege of ' ' bestowing of the sylver § harp

* [Among these deserve to be particularised ' the musical, poe-
* tical, and historical Relicks of the Welsh Bards,' by Mr. Edward
Jones, in 2 vols. folio.]

t Hist, of Music, ii. 110.

t History of the Progress, &c. of Poetry, 202. Specimens, &c. v.

§ [This emblem of fame is about six inches and a half long, and
furnished with strings equal to the number of the Muses. It was
gained at a public coutest.of the Bards, in the reign of Queen Eliza-
beth, by Sion ab Rhys, Pencerdd, principal musician of the harp,
or Mus. Doc. See Jones's Relicks of the Welsh Bards, i. 89, where
a print of the « Silver Jewel,' or token of bardic distinction, is given.]

xlvi A HISTORICAL ESSAY

" appertaining to the Chief of that Faculty." It may
be added that the profession of a bard is to be yet traced
in some parts of the country : and that in Basse -Bretagne,
which is believed to have been colonised from hence,
after the Saxon conquest, an itinerant musician is to this
day called a Bard.*

The natives of the highlands and isles of Scotland had,
likewise, bards by profession till very lately ; and pre-
serve traditionally many romantic and sentimental songs,
some of which are said to possess great merit, though
few are thought to be of much antiquity. The poems
and songs pretended to have been translated from the
Erse, and published under the name of Ossian, are un-
doubtedly very ingenious, artful, and, it may be, elegant
compositions ; but they are certainly not genuine. f

But the bards are no where known to have been
treated with more respect, or held in higher estimation,
than among the ancient Irish. They had portions of
land allotted for their maintenance ; their profession was
hereditary j and, by a law, still extant, none were allowed
to be invested with this dignity but those of illustrious
families. Their songs were chiefly designed to transmit
to posterity the national history and memorable acts of
their own time. Those which were deemed most au-
thentic were preserved in the custody of the king's an-
tiquary j and many of them are cited by Keating as the
materials of his Irish history. We ,are told that St. Pa-
trick, when he converted this kingdom to Christianity,

* M. de Querlon, 13.

t [See a very ingenious and acute dissertation on this curious sub-
ject, by Edward Du Bois, Esq. prefixed to a late edition of Ossian.
Dr. Sherwin of Bath has since espoused the side of the Rowleians,
•with much critical and etymological erudition, iu the Gent. Mag.]

ON NATIONAL SONG. xlvii

out of a burning zeal for the religion he came to in-
culcate, destroyed no less than three hundred volumes
of ancient Pagan songs.* It is to be hoped that the
doctrine he taught would atone for the mischief it oc-
casioned.

These bards had, at one time, increased so much, and
grown so insolent and formidable, that it was, in a so-
lemn convention of the states, resolved to banish them
into — SCOTLAND ! — The severity of this sentence struck
such a terror into our unruly musicians, as quickly
brought them to their senses : they implored pardon,
and, upon a promise of amendment, were suffered to dis-
perse theirselves up and down the kingdom. This was
in the sixth century. At some later period we find them
again become troublesome, and their number lessened
and regulated. Every chief had one bard allowed him to
record the achievements of his family 5 and independ-
ence and a competent revenue were still preserved them.
This regulation was the standard for succeeding ages.f
In the time of the poet Spenser, however, they had
fallen into their former irregularities, and were a most
abandoned, corrupt, and desperate set of men ; " the
" abettors of thieving and robbery," and, indeed, of
every other crime. The account he has given us of them
is equally curious and minute 4

Although the profession is, at present, supposed to be
nearly extinct, yet the original of a very favourite Eng-

* Keating. Brown. t lidem.

+ [See Spenser's View of the State of Ireland, in Mr. Todd's edi-
tion of his works, vol. viii. ; and see, for more comprehensive infor-
mation on this subject, " Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards, in-
terspersed with anecdotes of, and occasional observations on, the
Music of Ireland, by Joseph Cooper Walker, Esq."]

VOL. I. f

xlviii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

lish Bacchanalian song is ascribed to an itinerant harper,
who seems, from the description we have of him,* to be
a genuine representative of the ancient bard.

But independent of this species of poets, the modern
Irish possess many beautiful and tender songs. One of
them, beginning (in its English dress)

' Bless'd were the days when in the lonely shade,'

* " They (i. e, the Irish) talk of a wonderful master they had o
" late, called Cardan ; who, like Homer, was blind, and, like him,
" went about tinging and playing his rhapsodies. His poetry was iu
" Irish, and not much praised, but his music is celebrated. From an
" early disappointment in love he is said to have attuned his harp to
" the elegiac strain. 1 have heard one of these compositions played,
" and to me the sounds were as expressive of such a situation of
" mind, as the words of a love-sick elegy. The history of one of
<{ his famous compositions called Tiarna Mayo, — which was some-
" what in the dirge stile, — is said to be this : the musician had of-
" fended Lord Mayo by some witty sarcasms, of which he is reported
" to have been very liberal, and was forbid his house. After some
" time he prevailed to be heard, and he sang this palinode in concert
" with his harp at dinner, with which, Orpheus-like, he so charmed
" the powers of resentment, that he was presently restored to his
" lordship's favour. T have heard divers others of his tunes called
" Planxtics, which are in the convivial strain, and evidently calcn-
" lated to inspire good humour, ami heighten the jollity of the festive
** hour. They go by the names of those gentlemen, for whose enter-
" tainments they were composed, as Planxty-Connor, Planxty-
" Johnston, Plauxty-Jones, &c. The last of these has been digni-
" lied by better words than those of the bard, by Mr. Dawson, late
" Baron of the Exchequer, and is now called Bumper Squire Jones.
" They tell me, that in his latter days he never composed without the
" inspiration of whiskey ; of which, at that critical hour, he always
" took care to have a bottle beside him. His ear was so exquisite,
" and his memory so tenacious, that he has been known to play off,
" at first hearing, some of the. most difficult pieces of Italian music,
" to the astonishment of Geminiani." Campbell's Philosophical
Survey of the South of Ireland, p. 450.

ON NATIONAL SONG, xlix

seems to have uncommon elegance and merit as a pas-
toral love-song. Another, translated, or imitated by
George Ogle, Esquire, member of parliament for the
county of Wexford, is well known by the title of ' Gram-
machree Molly ' Its only fault is rather too much sim-
plicity. The tune of this piece, however, appears to be
Scotish.* But there is a peculiar spirit and affecting
pathos in many of the native Irish melodies., which may
almost rival the most admired airs of Caledonia. f

§ 7. Having taken this cursory view of the melody
and song of the Celtic nations, we shall now turn back
to enquire into their existence among the Teutones or
Goths, from whom we are to consider OURSELVES as me-
diately descended/:}: The Germans, supposed to be a

* i. e. " Will you go to Flanders, my Mally O." It is, never-
theless, wished that the musical antiquaries of either country would
make a more particular enquiry into this matter.

t [Four books of * Irish Melodies' have recently been published,
with every adventitious aid of poetical and musical skill from the
united editorship of Sir John Stevenson and Thomas Moore, Esq.
The Caledonian Airs have received a similar tribute of attention from
the pens of Mr. Walter Scott, Miss Baillie, Mrs. Opie, and other
favoured votaries of the muse.]

^ The pedigree of the Fins and Laplanders is not yet ascertained.
The latter nation, in a state rather of savage refinement than of
nature, lias cultivated song with success. When the amorous Lap-
lauder is flying to visit his mistress, he beguiles the length and dreary-
ness of the journey, and encourages his rein-deer, by a song in her
praise. Two beautiful specimens are preserved by Schoeffer, both
of which have been (and. one of them with remarkable elegance)
translated into English, and are inserted in the first part of the pre-
sent collection. The Greenlanders, likewise, have their songs; so
have the Russians : and if travellers can find song in vogue among

f 2

1 A HISTORICAL ESSAY

branch of these people, in their old ballads, which with
them answered the purpose of registers and history,
celebrated Tuisto, a God sprung from the earth, and his
son Mannius, as the fathers and founders of their nation.
They had a tradition that Hercules had been in their
country, and this hero, above all others, they extolled as
they advanced to battle. They possessed another species
of song, the singing of which (by them called Barditum)
inspired courage, and predicted the fortune of the ap-
proaching fight.*

The originals of all ancient nations are lost in dark-
ness or obscurity : it cannot, therefore, be expected that
one should be able to point out with certainty whence or
at what time the Goths first came into Europe. That
they were a distinct people from the Celtse is a fact not
to be controverted : and that Scythia was their mother

the Samoiedes, they need hardly despair of success in a similar re-
search among the wolves and bears of the Siberian deserts.

* Tacitus, De won. Germa. Of the poetical genius and history of
the more modem Germans little can be collected. It appears, how-
ever, that the * Gay Science' while it flourished in other countries
was not neglected in theirs. A most curious manuscript has been
lately discovered, containing the compositions of a hundred and
forty German Troubadours of the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth
centuries. The Emperor Henry ^7I. a king of Bohemia, several
princes, electors, dukes, margraves, bishops, &e. are among the num-
ber. This invaluable curiosity is embellished with paintings of the
various martial and civil employments and diversions of those ages.
We cannot doubt therefore, that a taste for Song has always prevailed
in this and the adjacent countries, though we have no particular in-
formation on the subject. " In Hnngarie, (says Sir Philip Sidney),
" I have scene it the manner at all feastes and other such-like meet-
lt ings, to have songs of their ancestors valure, which that right
" souldierlike nation, thinke one of the chiefest kindlers of brave
" courage."

1

ON NATIONAL SONG, li

country is, at least, probable. The event of the war
carried on by Pompey against Mithridates king of Pontus,
obliged the Scythians to leave their country in great
numbers , of these, Odin or Woden, a valiant and power-
ful chief, whose true name was Sigge, is thought to have
led large bands into the ancient Scandinavia and other
parts occupied by the Teutones and Cimbri, the pos-
terity of former emigrants. Odin was a warrior, a
legislator, and a god. We shall shortly have occasion
.to speak of him again ; let us, in the mean time, pursue
our subject.

The Scalds (polishers) or poets of Iceland, the univer-
sity of the North, are as famous for their skill in poetry
and song as the Celtic bards. They resided in the courts
of kings and princes, whom it was part of their office to
accompany to battle, in order to be eye-witnesses of the
actions they were to celebrate and record, and which they
afterwards sung at great and solemn entertainments.
They animated the soldiers to fight, and extolled the chief-
tains who signalized their courage or fell in arms. Not
only the particular exploits, but sometimes the whole
lives of their kings and heroes, were thus recited. These
songs, which, being communicated from one to another,
were every where publicly chanted, are by the ancient
and modern writers of the North, * resorted and referred
to as authorities for the earlier periods of their history.
Great numbers of these compositions are extant in print
or preserved in manuscript. The poetic art was not,
however, entirely confined to the Scalds ; persons of the
highest rank cultivated this agreeable science. It is even

* Saxo, Torfaeus, &c.

lii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

supposed to have been introduced by Odin, who pretended
to have received it from the gods, and boasted that it
could produce him the most wonderful and miraculous
effects. <e I am possessed of Songs, (says he) such as
' ' neither the spouse of a king, nor any son of man can
(f repeat j one of them is called the Helper • it will
" help thee at thy need, in sickness, grief, and all adver-
" sides. ; I know a Song, which the sons of men ought
" to sing, if they would become skilful physicians. I
" know a Song, by which I soften and enchant the arms
t( of my enemies ; and render their weapons of none
f( effect. I know a Song, which I need only to sing
f( when men have loaded me with bonds ; for the moment
" I sing it, my chains fall in pieces, and I walk forth at
tc liberty. I know a Song, useful to all mankind , for as
" soon as hatred inflames the sons of men, the moment
" I sing it they are appeased. I know a Song, of such
" virtue, that were I caught in a storm, I can hush the
" winds, and render the air perfectly calm."* He like-
wise knew a Song, by which, with the assistance of his
Runic characters, he could compel the dead to rise and
converse with him. An adventure of this sort is re-
lated of him in a very ancient ode, beautifully translated
by Mr. Gray. The Scalds were believed to possess the
same power.

Regner Lodbrog was a great prince, poet, and pirate,
in the ninth century. He invaded the dominions of Ella
king of Northumberland, who took him prisoner, and
caused him to be thrown into a deep dungeon, where he
was killed by serpents. In the midst of his tortures he

* Northern Antiquities, ii. 21T.

ON NATIONAL SONG. liii

composed his Death- Song, which is still extant, and has
frequently appeared in English.* It is conjectured,
however, that but a few stanzas were the actual composi-
tion of Regner, and that the rest were added by his at-
tendant Scald, whose duty it was to celebrate the death
and heroism of his lord. There is a love-song by Harald
the Valiant, a famous adventurer of the eleventh age, in
which reciting his extraordinary accomplishments, and
feats in arms, he complains that they were not able to
make any impression on the heart of a Russian princess.
Examples of this nature are numerous. Many of the
ancient Scaldic songs are said to be yet chanted by the
peasantry of Denmark and Sweden.

The Saxons, a mixture of Germans and Danes, were,
towards the close of the fifth century, invited into this
country by Vortigern, king of the Britons, to assist him
in repelling the hostile attacks of the Picts and Scots j
arid, having subdued these barbarians for HIM, they, in a
very short time, completed the conquest of his dominions
for THEIRSELVES. Though we are very little acquainted
with the genius, manners, and amusements of these our
Pagan ancestors for some ages after their arrival, we
cannot doubt that they retained the fondness of their pre-
decessors for poetry and song. Of this, in fact, a re-
markable and satisfactory instance is afforded by Becle,
in his tf Ecclesiastical History;" where, speaking of the
sacred Poet Csedmon, f who lived in the seventh cen-

* See the five pieces of Runic poetry ; the Northern Antiquities ;
Warton's poems, 1748 j and a quarto pamphlet, by one Downman,
1781.

t " [Had our great poet Milton been familiar with Saxon,
(says Mr. Sharon Turner) we should be induced to think that he
owed something to Caedmon, in the first topic of his * Paradise

liv A HISTORICAL ESSAY

tury, he tells us, that so far from having ever composed
any idle songs, he had never learned any ; and that there-
fore, frequently at feasts, when, for the sake of convi-
viality, it was agreed that all the guests should sing in
their turn, as soon as he saw the harp approach him, he
would rise, for shame, from the table, and go imme-
diately home.* And that a harper, or gleeman, by pro-
fession, was no uncommon character among the Saxons,
is evident from a curious historical fact. For we learn
that their king Alfred, one of the greatest, wisest, and
best princes that ever sat upon a throne, was so much a
master of the musical, and, it may be, the poetical art,
that, in the disguise of such a character, he explored the
camp of his Danish enemies, and thence projected the
plan which enabled him to defeat them, f Indeed, this
monarch is expressly asserted, by one who well knew
him, not only to have listened night and day to the po-
pular songs of his countrymen and subjects, but to have
taken great pains to get them by heart, and commanded
others to do the same. J It is rather unfortunate, that

Lost'— the Fall of the Angels." Hist, of the Poetry of the Anglo-
Saxons.]

* 1. iv. c. 24. Percy, i. I.

t See Percy, i. 25, and the authorities there cited. A similar pro-
ceeding is recorded of Anlaff, king of the Danes, who, thus disguised,
went among the Saxon tents, and having been permitted to sing and
play before king Athelstan, was dismissed with a liberal reward.
But being observed, on his return, to bury the money, his character
was suspected, and his stratagem of course defeated. Percy, ibid.

$ Saxonica poenwta die noctuque . . . audiens . . . memoriter retine-
bat. ASSERIUS, (edit. 1722) p. 160. Again: — Rex inter bella, &c.
Saxonicos libros recitare, et maxime carmina Saxonica memoriter
discere aliis tmpmzri, et solus assidue pro viribus, studiosissime non de-
sinebat. p. 43.

ON NATIONAL SONG. lv

among the tolerably numerous relics of Saxon literature
still extant, we find no songs. In the Saxon chronicle,
indeed., there are two or three poetical pieces, the princi-
pal one being in celebration of the victory gained by
King Athelstan over Anlaff the Dane, which may be spe-
cimens of their ode, and were possibly sung to the harp.
But even this cannot be inferred with any degree of cer-
tainty. And it is, after all, very probable that these
poems were composed by the writers of the history, who
have in many other places evinced a disposition for such
poetical flights : a practice which appears to have pre-
vailed for many ages ; so low, at least, as our Henry V.*
and would certainly cost the Saxon historian very little
trouble. There is, however, a short poem in praise of
the city of Durham, enumerating the saints interred,
and the relics preserved in that holy place, which has,
likely enough, been written for the harp, and may, not
improperly, be considered as a Saxon song. The ancient
manuscript which contained it is now destroyed, but it is
printed in the Thesaurus of Hickes, and begins thus :

Ir ^eor bupch bpeome.
Eeonb bpeoten pice.

i. e. This city is famous

Beyond the Britons kingdom*

We have, likewise, the fragment of a song, reported to
have been made extempore by Canute the Great, who, as

* In a MS. of the Cotton library, an old chronicler, describing the
battle of Agincourt, is seized with a poetic furor, and insensibly runs
his narrative into a kind of scnig or poem. Perhaps this method, of
which there are many other instances, might be adopted as more easy
or captivating for public recitation.

Ivi A HISTORICAL ESSAY

he approached by water to Ely-abbey, where, attended
with his queen and court, he was going to hold a solemn
feast, was so much delighted at hearing the monks
chant their Hours, that he is said, <( in the joy of his
heart," inspired with a sort of poetic rapture, to have
broke out into a song, of which the following lines (all
that is preserved) are the first stanza : the only specimen,
perhaps, now remaining of the Saxon vulgar song, though
the lines should, in fact, seem to have come rather from
the monks than from the king.

GDepie rungen ^e GOunechej* bmnen Gljr.

^a Cmrc chins peu 'Sep by.

popeS eniter noep the lant.

anb hepe pe per GOunechej- rsenj. *

That is :

The monks in Ely sweetly sung,
Whilst Cnute the king there row'd along j
Row near the land, knights, (quoth the king)
And let us hear the song they sing.

We are not without sufficient evidence that the com-
mon people had their favourite songs, though none of
them has had the good fortune to descend to us. Ingul-
phus mentions ballads in praise of Hereward, the Saxon

* Bentham's History of Ely, p. 94. It may, from this little piece,
be conjectured, that rhyme had been introduced by the Danes :
certain it is, that no rhymed poetry of the earlier Saxons is now to
be found. Their poetic mode consists in short sentences in a pom-
pous and aftected stile : the words uncommon, frequently jingling
together, and thrown out of their natural order. Indeed, it is not
always easy to distinguish between their poetry and their prose.

ON NATIONAL SONG. Ivii

hero, who so gallantly opposed and harassed the con-
queror, which were sung about the streets in his time. *
And William of Malmesbury, in his history, refers to
Cantilena per successiones temporum delrittf, which were,
no doubt, in the vulgar tongue j f and elsewhere notices
a Carmen triviale of Aldhelm, who died in 709, and whom
king Alfred has pronounced without an equal in English
poetry, as adhuc vulgo cantitatum. I Other old and po-
pular rhimes, " concerning Gryme,the fisher, the founder
<f of Grymesby, Hanelock the Dane, and his wife Golde-
" burgh, daughter to King Athelwold," are mentioned
by Robert of Brunne : § of all which, though none of
them is, certainly, now retrievable, we cannot but re
gret the loss.

It is not unreasonable to attribute the suppression of
the romantic poems and popular songs of the Saxons, to
the monks, who seem not only to have refused to com-
mit them to writing, which few others were capable of
doing, but to have given no quarter to any thing of the
kind which fell into their hands. Hence, it is, that, ex-
cept the Saxon Chronicle, and a few other historical
fragments, together with many of their laws, and a num-
ber of charters, deeds, &c. (all which are to be sure of
some consequence,) we have little or nothing original in
the language, but lying legends, glosses., homilies,

* His. Croy. p. 68. Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, iv. 63.

t Tyrwhitt, iv. 46.

t Idem, Ibi. [My learned friend, Mr. Douce, observes, to what
is already here quoted- from William of Malmesbury, that he
farther states popular songs to have been sung about the streets of
London in his time, on the subject of the marriage of Gunhilda, the
daughter of Hardicanute, with the Emperor Henry III.]

§ Tyrwhitt, iv. 46.

Iviii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

charms, and such-like things, which evidently show the
people, from their conversion, at least, to have been
gloomy, superstitious and priest-ridden. What advan-
tages Christianity brought them, how much it en-
lightened their understandings, or improved their mo-
rals, to counterbalance the destruction of their national
genius and spirit, is not, perhaps, at this distance of
time, altogether so easy to be discovered.

Having got below the Conquest, we are now to com-
mence our view of English song. But, however interest-
ing an enquiry into this subject may be to ourselves, we
are not here to expect the full and satisfactory informa-
tion so easily obtained on the ancient singing poetry of
the Greeks and the French. Materials are very scanty,
and the pursuit almost, if not altogether, new.

The Saxon language continued to be spoken by the old
inhabitants for near a century and a half after their sub-
duction -, but by a rapid, though, doubtless, gradual cor-
ruption, from an intermixture of Norman words, and the
adoption of Norman idioms and modes of speaking, we
may, in some, probably the earlier, part of the long and
turbulent reign of Henry III. pronounce it to have died
a violent death 3 the written dialect we meet toward the
end of his time, being essentially a different tongue : from
this uncertain period, therefore, we date the birth and
establishment of the English language.

Before we proceed further, the reader may not be dis-
pleased with a rather curious passage in an ancient
writer, relative to the vulgar mode of singing in his own
time, the age of King Henry II. " In general (says he)
" there is not the least uniformity in musical modulation.
ff Every man sings his own song, and, in a crowd of
" singers, as is the custom here, so many persons as you

ON NATIONAL SONG. lix

ee see, so many songs and various voices, will you hear."
In the northern parts, on the confines of Yorkshire, the
natives (he tells us) used a symphoniac harmony with two
different tones : one singing the under part of the song
in a low voice, the other the upper part in a voice equally
soft and delighting : and this, not so much (he says) by
art, as use and nature j children, and even infants in the
cradle, observing the same kind of modulation. This
practice, altogether peculiar to these people, he supposes
them to have acquired from the Danes and Norwegians,
who had settled or resided in these parts. * Later
writers, however, incline to believe that they had learned
it from the method observed in chanting the service by
the monks at Wearmouth, in the bishopric of Durham.

The most ancient English song now extant, is one in
praise of the cuckoo 3 a favourite subject in every age,
both with poets and musicians. This great curiosity,
(for besides that the words theirselves are far from being
inelegant, they are accompanied with a very masterly
musical composition for six voices, in the nature of a
catch,) is preserved in a fine old MS. in the Harleian
library, and is, by Sir John Hawkins and Dr. Burney,
(both of whom have inserted it in their respective works,}
referred to about the middle of the fifteenth century, f
But the reasoning of these two learned and ingenious
gentlemen on the subject, is as inconclusive as their
judgement is erroneous. There cannot be a doubt that
the manuscript is two hundred years older -, i. e. of the

* Giraldus Cambrensis, as quoted by Hawkins and Burney.

t Mr. Warton has (but without the least acknowledgment) fol-
lowed Sir John Hawkins, and consequently involved hisiself in the
same mistake.

]x A HISTORICAL ESSAY

latter part of the reign of Henry III. The song will
speak for itself :

Svmer is icumen in.

"Lhude sing cuccu.

Growep sed and blowep med

And springp pe wde nu.

Sing cuccu

Awe bletep afcer lomb.

Lhoup afcer calue cu.

Bulluc stertep.

Bucke uertep.

Murie sing cuccu

Cuccu cuccu

Wei singes pu cuccu

Ne swik pu nauer nu.*

In the ensuing reign we are fortunately enabled to
proceed with greater certainty and success. In the British
Museum is a large folio book, written by the hand of
some Norman scribe, about the beginning of the time of
Edward II. and containing a variety of songs and poems
by different authors, both in French and English, chiefly,
as it must seem, of the preceding reign. Most of these
pieces are of an amorous or satirical turn, and many of
them, for so remote an age, not destitute of merit. The
libel on Richard, king of the Romans, printed by Percy

* i. e. ' Summer is come in ; loud sings the cuckoo : now the seed
' grows, and the mead blows (i. e. is in flower), and the wood springs.

* The ewe bleats after the lamb; the calf lows after the cow; the

* bullock starts, the buck verts (i. e. goes to harbour in the fern) ; nier-
' rily sings the cuckoo. Well singest thon, cuckoo. Mayest thou

* never cease.'

ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixi

in his "" Reliques of ancient English Poetry ," is from this
collection : from whence, likewise, Warton in the first
volume of his history, has made several extracts ; which,
however, are very inaccurate. It likewise includes an
abusive ballad against the Scots j and another against the
French, on the insurrection at Bruges in 1301. As a
specimen of the language and poetic manner of this
early period, we shall insert the first verse of Cf a song
" in praise of the author's mistress, whose name was
" Alisoun."

Bytuene mersh & aueril

When spray bigmnep to spinge
pe lutel foul hap hire wyl

On hyre lud to synge
Ich libbe in loue longmge
For semlokest of alle pynge
He may me blisse bringe

Icham in hire bandoun
An hendy hap ichabbe yhent
Ichot from heuene it is me sent;
From alle wymmen mi loue is lent

And lyht on Alysoun.*

The four last lines make the burden of the three remain-
ing stanzas.

Of nearly the same age, in another manuscript, we

* i.e.' Between March and April, when the branches begin to

* spring, the little birds indulge their inclination to sing in their

* language, I live in the "longings of love, for the seemliest of all

* creatures. She may bring me happiness. I am in her honds. I have
' obtained a happy lot. I wot [helieve] it is sent me from heaven.

* My love has left all other women, and is alighted upon Alisoun/

Ixii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

Lave <( a song in praise of the valiant knight sir Piers
<( de Birmingham, who, while he lived, was a scourge
" to the Irish, and died A.D. 1288." But it is very
long, and has little merit.

During the reign of Edward III. Chaucer considerably
improved and polished both our language and our poetry.
He is, undoubtedly, a writer of great genius, and almost
the first English poet worth naming. In the ' Canter-
bury Tales,' and, indeed, throughout his works, are
numberless allusions to the state of the music and song
of his age. * But few, perhaps, if any, of those nume-
rous songs, which he expressly tells us he composed, and

* For instance, the Pardoner sings " Come hither, love, to me :"
while the sompncur (summonei or apparitor) bears him a stiff
'* burdoun," i. e. sings the base. This was, doubtless, some favourite
song at that time. As was, likewise, it should seem, " The Kinges
" Note," which is elsewhere mentioned.* Absalon, the all-accom-
plished parish-clerk, is celebrated for his skill in music :

In twenty manere could he trip and dance,

And playen SONGES on a smal ribible,t
Thereto he song somtime a loud quinible,t
And as wel coude he play on a giterue,§ &c.

Nay, our jocose author has even preserved the very song which this
amorous youth performed in one of jiis nocturnal serenades.

He singeth in his vois gentil and smal ;
Now, dere lady,— if thy wille he,
I pray you that ye — wol rewe on me ;
Ful wel accordant to his giterning.

* And after that he song the kinges note :

Ful often blessed was his mery throte. M.T.
t A rebec, or kind of fiddle with three strings,
t A eantabile ? § A guitar or citern.

ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixiil

for the composition of which he testifies so much peni-
tence,* seem to have come down to us ; unless the
rondeau printed by Percy, beginning

Your two eyn will sle me sodenly,

should happen to be one of them. His ballades may, in-
deed, have been sung, but they are certainly no songs.

Of the reign of Richard II. there is no song .known
to be extant. A manuscript in the Cotton library, of
the time of his usurping successor, contains a sarcastic
ballad upon the execution, as it should seem, of John
Holland, duke of Exeter, whom the author calls (c Jac
" Nape," and for whose soul he makes the rest of the
conspirators, by name, sing ' Placebo et dirige.' It
begins,

' In the moneth of May, when gasse growep grene/

and is accompanied by another, against the Lollards, of
the same age.

Henry V. forbad his subjects to extol his victory at
Agincourt : but they either had already begun to chant
triumphal songs, or were not deterred by the pro-

Nor does the mincing Wife of Bath forget to tell ns,

Tho coude I dancen to an harpe" sarnie
And SING ywis as any nightingale*

And from a passage in the Prioress's Tale, it should appear that
" TO siKGuft" was as much an established branch of* the education
of <* smalt", children" as " to rede."

* — "and many a SONG, and many a lecherous LAY, Crist
** of his grete mercie foryeve me the shine." KKTRAC4 C. T.
(iii. 277.)

VOL. I. g

Ixiv A HISTORICAL ESSAY

hibition ; for one of these pieces, with the original music,
is luckily preserved to us, and has been frequently
printed.*

The reign of Henry VI. is an aera of great conse-
quence in the poetical annals of this country ; not so
much, indeed, from the excellence, as from the mag-
nitude and multiplicity of its metrical productions. The
works of Lydgate, monk of Bury, alone, are nearly suf-
ficient to load a waggon. His ballades are numerous $
but we find nothing which we can call a song ; except a
sort of " roundell" previous to the coronation of Henry
the Sixth, which is not worth inserting here. But Dan
John, like most of the other professed poets of that age,
laboured too much with a leaden pen, in what was then
thought a solemn and stately stanza (rythme royal}, to be
a good writer of songs. These were chiefly composed by
anonymous and ignorant rhimers, for the use of the
vulgar ; and it is by mere accident that any of them have
been preserved. It must, indeed, be confessed that most
of those which remain possess very little merit, besides
that of exhibiting the state of the art at the time in
which they were written : though a collection of such
things, rude and simple as they are, would by no means
prove either unworthy of attention, or void of use.
' The Turnament of Tottenham,' however, printed by
Percy, is a very humourous and very excellent composi-
tion. But the most curious and remarkable pieces of
this period are two songs or ballads, in a rude Northern
dialect, which deserve particular attention : the one is
upon the battle of Otterburn, fought between the Scots

* Literary Magazine, 1757, p. 308.— Percy's Reliques, ii. 25.
and elsewhere.

I

ON NATIONAL SONG. ky

and the English, under the respective commands of an
earl of Douglas (who was slain in the field), and the
great and celebrated Henry lord Percy, surnamed Hot-
spur, son of the earl of Northumberland, who was car-
ried prisoner into Scotland ; the other, if not a different
modification of this ballad, is on an imaginary conflict
between a Douglas and a Percy, occasioned by a hunting
match supposed to have been made by the latter in CH EVY
CHACE (i. e. the heights of Cheviot in Northumberland,
then within the Scotish march), in which they are both
slain.* This is known to have been a popular song in
the time of queen Elizabeth. ' f I never heard (says the
(< accomplished Sir Philip Sidney) the old song of Percy
" and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than
" with a trumpet ; and yet is it but sung by some blind
(e crowder, with no rougher voice then rude stile : which
" being so evill apparelled in the dust and cobweb of
" that uncivill age, what would it worke trimmed in the
" gorgeous eloquence of Pindare." Notwithstanding this
eulogy, it seems to have been little known and much ne-
glected 5 and, being modernised in a succeeding reign,
became totally forgotten, till it was accidentally recovered
by that industrious antiquary, Mr. Thomas Hearne, by

* [An ' Ode to Ritson,' written in 1791, on his intended descrip-
tive revision of the ancient ballad of Chevy Chace, was printed in the
Gent. Mag. for June 1811. The anonymous writer says, in a note,
" The purpose Mr. Ritson once entertained of publishing the above
" ballad, with historical and. topographical observations, was re-
" voked soon after a visit he made to the north j one of the objects
" of which was to collect materials." From an early copy, said to be
' above 300 years old,' Ritson did publish Chevy Chace, first en-
titled "The Hunting of the Cheviot," 'in the * Northumberland Gar-
* land, or Newcastle Nightingale,' 1793.]

s*

Ixvi A HISTORICAL ESSAY

whom it was first printed ; and from him bishop Percy
inserted it in his " Reliques of ancient English Poetry ;"
in which, likewise, "The Battle of Otterburn," (two
copies whereof are luckily extant in the Museum,) made
its first appearance. These two songs are by this inge-
nious writer ascribed to a body of men, who are sup-
posed to have been, about this period, and for some pre-
ceding centuries, very numerous and respectable j and
concerning whom he has favoured the world with a most
ingenious and elegant essay. The reader will imme-
diately recollect — the "ancient English minstrels," of
whom, before we advance further in our little history,
it may not be impertinent or improper to take some
notice.

Without attempting to controvert the slightest fact
laid down by the learned prelate, one may be well per-
mitted to question the propriety of his inferences, and,
indeed, his general hypothesis. Every part of France,
but more especially Normandy, seems to have formerly
abounded in minstrels, whose profession has been already
described. Many of these people, we can easily suppose,
attended the Conqueror, and his Norman barons, in
their expedition to England ; and perhaps were provided
for, or continued to gain a subsistence by their profes-
sional art among the settlers. The constant intercourse
which so long subsisted between the two countries, (that
is, while the English monarchs had possessions in
France,) afforded the French and Norman minstrels coti-
stant opportunities of a free and unexpensive passage
into England, where they were certain of a favourable
reception and liberal rewards from the king, his barons,
and other Anglo-Norman subjects. French or Norman
minstrels, however, are not English ones. There is not

ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixvii

the least proof that the latter were a respectable society,
or that they even deserve the name of a society. That
there were men in those times, as there are in the pre-
sent, who gained a livelihood by going about from place
to place, singing and playing to the illiterate vulgar, is
doubtless true;* but that they were received into the
castles of the nobility, sung at their tables, and were re-
warded like the French minstrels, does not any where
appear, nor is it at all credible. The reason is evident.
The French tongue alone was used at court, and in the
households of the Norman barons (who despised the
Saxon manners and language) , for many centuries after
the Conquest, and continued till, at least, the reign of
Henry VIII. the polite language of both court and
country, and as well known as the English itself: a
fact of which (to keep to our subject) we need no other
evidence than the multitude of French poems and songs
to be found in every library. The learned treatise above
noticed might, therefore, with more propriety, have

* Pnttenham gives us the following curious picture of the ancient
English minstrels of his time :

" The otier busie and too speedy returne of one maner of tune
" [doth] too much annoy & as it were glut the eare, vnlesse it be in
" small and popular Musickes song by these Cantabanqui vpon
" benches and barrels heads, where they haue none other audience
" then boys or countrey fellowes that passe by them in the street, or
-" else by blind harpers or such like tauerne minstrelles that give a fife
" of mirth for a groat, & their matters being for the most part
" stories of old time, as the tale of sir Topas, the reportes of Beuis
" of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, Adam Bell, and Clymme of
" the Clough, & such other old romances or historical! rimes, made
" purposely for recreation of the cdmon people at Christmasse diners
" & brideales, and in tauernes & alehouses, and such other places of
" base resort."— Arte of English Poesie, 1589, p. 69.

kviii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

been intitled " An Essay on the ancient FRENCH Min-
" strels," whom the several facts and anecdotes there
related alone concern. Of the English minstrels, all
the knowledge we have of them is, that by a law of queen
Elizabeth,, they were pronounced f ' rogues, vagabonds,
te and sturdy beggars j"* a sufficient proof they were
not very respectable in her time, how eminent soever
they might have been before. f That such characters as
these should have left us no memorials of theirselves is
not at all surprising. They could sing and play ; but it
was none of their business to read or write. So that,
whatever their songs may have been, they seem to have
perished along with them ; for, excepting the two ballads
which have been mentioned (neither of which, unless it
be from the rude and barbarous jargon in which they are
composed, are necessarily ascribable to minstrels), we
have not a single composition which can, with any de-
gree of certainty, or even plausibility, be given to a
person of this description. |

Ames, the author of tfye ' Typographical Antiquities,'

* 39 Eliz. c. 4. s. 2.

t They are not represented to much greater advantage by the
early historians, who, it seems, " can seldom afford them a better
" name than that of Scurra, Famelici, Tfebulones, &c."~ PERCY
(Notes on the Essay, xlii.)

+ That the reader may not be misled by a term, it will be per-
tinent to remark that the word is frequently used for a musician in
general. Thus " the king's minstrels" were his band of music. The
choristers of a cathedral as well as the trumpets of an army are
likewise often so called. And in an ordinance of the rump par-
liament, 1658, which pays the minstrels no more respect than queen
Elizabeth had done, the word is used as synonimous with fiddlers, in
which more expressive and characteristic appellation it has been
since entirely lost.

•ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixix

is said to have had in his possession a folio volume of
English songs or ballads, composed or collected by one
John Lucas, about the year 1450; which sir John Haw-
kins thinks (< is probably yet in being."* Whoever has
it, would do the public an essential service, by inform-
ing them of the nature of its contents. As to Shirley's
collection, in the Ashmolean museum, it is of very little
value ; and contains, at least in the present sense of the
words, neither songs nor ballads.

The reign of Edward IV. affords no particular infor-
mation on the subject. In that of his son and short-
lived successor, we have a song written by the learned
Anthony Widville, earl Rivers, during the time of his
imprisonment, by the arbitrary dictates of the ambitious
and usurping Gloucester, in Pontefract castle. This
little piece, which is preserved by Rouse the historian,
and has been reprinted by Percy, is in imitation of the
measure of one ascribed to Chaucer, and begins
£ Sumwhat musyng,' &c.t

There is no song extant which can be safely ascribed to
the reign of Richard III. Skelton, in the time of his
immediate successor, is a poet of some eminence. He
was a great writer of "balades" and " dities of plea-
<f sure," a few of which we have left ; but the best, at
least the most humourous of them, is, at present, too
gross to be endured, and the others are too insipid to be
regarded.

* History of Music, ii. 91. ,

t [See this ballad inserted among Ritson's Ancient Songs, 1790,
p. 87, though with more discrepancies from the Fairfax MS. which
he professed to follow, than any person, who has not compared the
two copies, would conceive.— See Noble Authors, i. 222, edit.
1806.]

Jxx A HISTORICAL ESSAY*

The late Mr. Thoresby had a fair large manuscript
collection of English songs of this period, with the mu-
sical compositions of the most eminent masters,* which
had once belonged to the lord Fairfax. It afterwards
came into the hands of a gentleman in the city, who
permitted great part of it to be engraved and pub-
lished, f The music, according to Dr. Burney, is some-
what uncouth, but is still better than the poetry. To
sing by note, appears to have been then an ordinary ac-
complishment.

The songs used at this time, and, indeed, down to the
Reformation, were mostly in French, Italian, or Latin. |
The music-book of prince Arthur is still extant : it is
full of songs 5 and there is not an English word among
them.

Of Henry the Eighth's reign the writer of these
pages has before him a tolerably large manuscript,
somewhat resembling the Fairfax collection, but more
abounding in church-services, hymns, carols, and other
religious pieces. § Qne of the songs is much in the

* [Among others, of Robert Fairfax, Mus. Doc. to whom it had
belonged : see Sir John Hawkins1 * History of Music,' vol. ii. where
he is said to have been of a Yorkshire family, and a doctor in music
of Cambridge, though incorporated of Oxford in the year 1511.
Bishop Tanner describes him of Bayford, in the county of Herts,
and believes that he died at St. Alban's, being either organist or
chanter of the Abbey church.]

t [I believe by Mr. J. Stafford Smith, who prefixed a concise
historical essay on musical modes, notations, and instruments : with
a plate taken from two old MSS. and two rare printed books, re-
presenting male and female musicians.]

t Burney, ii. 55 1.

§ [This curious volume became the property of Rifc-on, and by
him was liberally presented to the British museum.]

ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixxi

manner of Skelton, and not without humour. Another.,
intitled 'The Kyngs Balade/ beginning

' Passe tyme with good cumpanye,'

is probably the composition of this or the preceding
tyrant, each of whom is said to have had a turn for
music and song.* Caligula and Nero affected the same
taste.

In the library of the society of Antiquaries are several
old printed copies of songs, on the disgrace of Thomas
Cromwell, earl of Essex, which should seem to have
been sung and sold in the streets. The first, and per-
haps best of them, is reprinted by Percy. f It is scarcely
possible that the fall of Wolsey was less distinguished. J

» Puttenham (' Arte of English Poesie,' p. 12) mentioiis " one
" Gray as having grown into great estimation with Henry VHI.
tl and afterward with the duke of Somerset protectour, for mak'mg
" certaine merry ballades, whereof one chiefly was, The hunte is vp,
<' the hunte is vp." There is likewise a species of poetical harmony,
in old books, called " K. H. mirth, or Freemens Songs." For the
meaning of the letters K. H. sir John Hawkins says, we are to seek :
there cannot be a doubt that they mean King Henry's. [The Bri-
tish Critics have pointed out a tune to the old * Hunts up,' with the
alternate harmony of verse and chorus, in * Ravenscroft's briefe Dis-
' course of the true but neglected Use of charactering the Degrees by
' their Perfection, Imperfection, and Diminution, in measurable Mu-
« sicke,' &c. Lond. 1614.— See British Critic, xxvii. 360.]

t Reliques, ii.j -64. [The song-lampoons on Cromwell, in the
society of Antiquaries, are eight in number : two of them were penned
by T. Smith, clerk of the council, &c. one by K. Smyth, and one by
W. Gray ; the concluding one is by G. L. who writes as a metrical
arbitrator in the controversy.]

f [Roy's satire on the Cardinal is written in a kind of ballad
dialogue, and a part of it is described as »' a balett," which one of
the colloquists is supposed to sing. — See Harleian Miscell. ix. 39.]

Ixxii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

The Reformation appears to have given full as much
employment to the ballad -makers as to the polemical
divines. Perhaps, indeed, they were one and the same
set. A few of these are to be found in the ' Reliques.'

It is much to be regretted that we have no songs of
Surrey or Wyatt, the two best poets of that age, and the
first who made any progress in polishing and improving
the language : unless the latter's exquisite address to his
lute can be properly deemed one.*

Lord Vaux the elderf is a song-writer of the two
following reigns. His ' Aged Lover,' of which the
grave-digger in Hamlet sings a few stanzas, and ' Cu-
pid's Assault,' both preserved at the end of Surrey's
poems, and reprinted by Percy, are pieces of no little
merit. And, in whatever light the beautiful pastoral of
f Harpalus' be considered, the author has done hisself
much injustice in concealing his name.

We now arrive at the time of queen Elizabeth j in
which we are to look for the origin of the modern Eng-
lish song : not a single composition of that nature, with
the smallest degree of poetical merit, being discoverable
at any preceding period 5 and, consequently, none earlier

* [This address, which seems to deserve the high epithet here be-
stowed on it, is assigned in the Harington MS. dated 1564, to vis-
count Rocheford. — See Noble Authors, i. 249, last edition.]

t [This was an error promulged by Puttenham in his * Arte of
Eng. Poesie,' 1589, and adopted by numerous writers, till Dr.
Percy led to its detection, and sufficiently evinced that Nicholas
lord Vaux the elder could not have been the poet; but that his son
Thomas, styled lord Vaux the younger, was likely to have been so.
In the 'Poetical Register,' however, for 1801, Sir Egerton Brydges
pointed out William, the son of Thomas, as still more likely to be the
poet; and Ritson, in his * Bibliographia Poetica,' gives him full
credence for being so.]

ON NATIONAL SONG, Ixxiii

is to be found in the collection herewith given to the
public.*

We may venture to place Marlow at the head of the
numerous song- writers of this reign ; not more by rea-
son of his priority, than on account of his merit. And
yet his ( Pastoral Invitation' is the only song of his which
has descended to us ; possibly, which he wrote. But
the beautiful and characteristic simplicity of this little
piece is fully sufficient to justify the preference here given
him on the score of merit. Wither, better known in
the political, as well as poetical, annals of the two fcxU
lowing reigns, must be esteemed a songster of this.f
Both he and Marlow are happily imitated by Raleigh.
Spenser has inserted a pastoral song in his eclogues.

* If we could recover that "bunch of ballets and songs, all an-
" cient," which captain Cox, the literary mason of Coventry, had
"fair wrapt up in parchment and bound with a whipcord :" "as
" Broom, broom on hil ; So wo iz me begon, trolylo. Over a whinny
" weg. Hey ding a ding. Bonny lass npon a green. My bony on
" gave me a bek. By a bank az I lay ; and a hundred more :"
(Langham, Letter from Killingworth. Lon. 1575, 8vo.) it is very
possible that the above opinion might prove erroneous. [Nash
speaks of the following songs, or ballads, in two of his controversial
tracts with Harvey, printed in 1596 and 1599. " In Sandon soyle as
<{ late befell. Cutting Ball. Have with you to Florida. The story
" of Axeres and theworthie Iphiis. As I went to Walsingham. I»
" Creete when Dedalus. Anne Askew. All the flowers of the broom
" Pepper is black. John Carelesse. Greenesleves. Go from mj
" garden, go. The strife of Love in a dreame, or the lamentable
" burthen of Teverton." The song of Lady Greensleves has been
reprinted by Mr. Ellis, in vol. ii. of his * Specimens,' from a * Hunde-
full of pleasant delites,' &c. 1584.]

t [As Wither was only twelve years of age at the decease of
queen Elizabeth, and as his earliest production did not appear till
eleven years afterward, Ritson's odd determination to place him in
the poetical reign of that queen savours a little of anachronism :
still more erratic was it, to make Raleigh the imitator of him.]

Ixxiv A HISTORICAL ESSAY

Dray ton, a smooth and poetic writer, has left us two or
three tolerable songs -, but his excellence is in his larger
works. The genius of Shakspeare was as universal as
it was sublime : his lyric productions are superior to
those of his contemporaries ; and than some of them
nothing better has since appeared. How much ought
we to regret the valuable time he sacrificed to the false
taste of his age, in the composition of above 150 son-
nets (the most difficult and insipid metrical structure
ever invented), which, though from the pen of this im-
mortal bard, we can scarcely endure to read.*

Sir Philip Sidney wrote a number of things in and out
of the Arcadia, which were then esteemed songs : but
they are all too much in the affected and unnatural man-
ner of the Italian and Spanish poets, to deserve this
character at present. His friend, lord Brooke, has, how-
ever, left us one piece, which will be always accepted as
a good song. And some of the performances of Francis
Davison appear the effusions of a real poetical genius,
and deserve much praise.

The queen herself had a turn for poetry, which she
did not disdain to cultivate. Specimens of her talents
are preserved in some contemporary publications -, but
rtone of them appears to be a perfect song.

Vere eari of Oxford, master Edwards of the queen's
chapel, George Gascoigne, Nicholas Breton, and* many

* [It may not, perhaps, become the present Editor, himself a
sonneteer, to enter upon a particular vindication of the metrical
composition here decried : but it will probably be sufficient, against
this sweeping censure, merely to register the names of those emi-
nently successful modern sonnet-writers, Mr. Bowles, Mrs. Smith,
Miss Seward, Mr. Russell, Mr. Warton, Mr. Polwhele, Mr. War-
wick, Kirke White, Sir Brooke Boothby, and Sir Egerton Brydges.]

ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixxv

other distinguished and inferior poets, are among the
song- writers of this reign.*

The earliest drinking-song of any merit, in the lan-
guage, is that inserted at page 77 of the second volume.
How much, if at all, elder it is, than the dramatic piece
in which it is preserved, does not appear.

It is, likewise, to the age of this princess we are to
refer the origin of the English ballad. That the com-
mon people of this, like those of , almost every other
country, have always, even in their rudest state, had songs
to celebrate or record national or local occurrences, by
whomsoever they may have been composed, is an incon-
trovertible fact. Unfortunately, however, of these pieces
not more than two, both already noticed, are known to
exist, f All the rest, not having been collected or en-
tered in large volumes, nor ever printed, are irrecover-
ably lost. What a treasure would it be to possess a col-
lection of the vulgar songs composed and sung during
the civil wars of York and Lancaster, in which almost
every moment afforded some great, noble, interesting or
pathetic subject, for the imagination of the poet ! Hdw
delightful, how instructive, would be the perusal of such
a little history of that turbulent and bloody period ! The

* [See biographical notices of these poets and several of their
contemporaries prefixed to a careful reprint of two early and po-
pular metrical miscellanies, " England's Helicon," and the " Para-
dise of Daintie Devises." Churchyard, the court-poet, might also he
added to the abov« list, for two or three song-specimens printed in
liis •• Charge,' 1580.]

t It may be proper to mention that the ballad of ' Captain Car/
printed by Percy under the Scotch title of * Edom (Adam) o Gor.
don,' is extant in a MS. of queen Elizabeth's time. But whether
this be originally English, or only an alteration from the Scotish, and
•whether the name subjoined be that of the author or transcriber,
are circumstances altogether uncertain.

Ixxvi A HISTORICAL ESSAY

ponderous tomes of Lydgate and Occleve have descended
to us in the highest preservation j one would gladly
sacrifice the whole for a single page ! But the songs of
which we are speaking appear to have born[e] so little
resemblance to the stile and manner of the old ballads
with which we are now acquainted, and from which a
part of the present collection is formed, that we may
fairly infer that not one of the latter existed before the
reign of the above princess. The learned and ingenious
bishop Percy has, indeed, published a work, in which a
considerable number of songs and ballads, that have
never otherwise appeared, are ascribed to a very remote
antiquity ; an antiquity altogether incompatible with the
stile and language of the compositions theirselves, most
of which, one may be allowed to say, bear the strongest
intrinsic marks of a very modern date. But the genuine-
ness of these pieces cannot be properly investigated or
determined without an inspection of the original manu-
script, from which they are said to be extracted.* As to

* [This inspection, at a subsequent period, Ritson had it in his
power to have made ; since, in consequence of his repeated in-
jiendos and avowed incredulity on the subject, Dr. Percy's ' original
manuscript' was left nearly a year with Mr. Nichols, the printer,
while a fourth edition of the * Rrliques of English Poetry' was
passing through the press. During that time it was actually inspected
by Mr. Daines Barrington, Mr. Ciacherode, Dr. Fanner, Mr.
Steevens, Mr. Malone, Mr. Reed, and Mr. Douce ; whose united
or individual testimony ought to have extinguished every doubt con.
cerning the existence of the MS. in question ; or that its contents, in
any respect, differed from the owner's representation. Yet Ritson,
who was mortified by the bishop's refutation of his remarks on
English minstrels, without naming his opponent, and outraged by
the same prelate's exposure of a misquoted line in his Scotisti
Songs, continued to carp at the ' celebrated folio manuscript,' in his
Notes on the Lite of Robin Hood, and more intemperately in his

'ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixxvii

the ancient black letter copies of the more common Eng-
lish ballads, of which there are several collections ex-
tant,* not more than three are so old as the sixteenth
century, nor double the number of a more early date
than the reign of king Charles JI. The rest, to the
amount of many hundreds, appear to have been printed
between the Restoration and the commencement of the
present century. It is not, however, meant by this to
insinuate that none of those in the two last descriptions

Dissertation on Romance and Minstrelsy ; until these affected scoffs
about its non-entity were silenced by Mr, Douce, who assured
Ritson " he had seen the volume :" — to which the latter replied, that •
" he then must believe it existed." This, however, is more than Mr.
R. H. Evans avows himself to do, in a late advertisement; where he
talks of bishop Percy's pretending to possess an ancient MS. in
which 'his new readings are to be found.' So very unbecoming a
slur on the venerable prelate, and from a person who professed to
present himself before the public with ' considerable diffidence,'
awakened the following critical reproof. — ' We thought this charge
' of forgery was quite refuted by the advertisement of bishop

* Percy's nephew to the last edition of the Reliques. There is.no

* faith in common testimony, if the bishop did not actually possess

* such a MS. And so far from attributing all his new readings to

* his ancient MS. he expressly pleads guilty to the charge of con-

* ccaling his own share in the amendments, under some such general..

* title, as a " modern copy," or the like. His object was to please

* both the judicious antiquary and the reader of taste ; and he eri-

* dcavoured to gratify both, without offending either.' — Review of
Literature, in the Monthly Mirror for November 1810.]

* The largest is one of five vols. in the Pepysian library ; the
next, one of two, in the library of the late major Pearson. [Major
Pearson's collection was purchased for the duke of Roxburghe, who
added a third volume, and made some curious additions to the former
two.] There is another in the British, and a fourth in the Ashmolean
museum.

Ixxviii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

r~

are of equal antiquity, in point of composition, with
those in the first : the contrary is certain. That these
ballads were originally composed for public singers by
profession, and perhaps immediately for printers, book-
sellers, or those who vended such like things, is highly
probable. But whether they were, in every case, first
published in single sheets, and not, till afterwards col-
lected into ' Garlands,' * or whether they made their
first appearance in such collections, does not clearly ap-
pear. Thomas Deloney and Richard Johnson, (writers
by profession of amusing books for the populace,) were
famous ballad-makers about this period. And could we
be assured that they were the real authors of the ' Gar-
lands,' or collections published under their respective
names, we might be able to refer most of the ballads in
the present collection to the one or to the other. Elder-
ton has been pronounced peerless in the composition of
ballads. f From him the laurel descended to Martin
Parker, the last, perhaps, who was any way celebrated
on this account.

The reign of queen Elizabeth is also the age of Ma-
drigals, Catches, and Glees : but, as these, though some-
what partaking of the nature of song, claim a much
nearer affinity with Euterpe than with Polyhymnia, it
will be sufficient to have just mentioned them.

Among the songsters of James the First's time, one is
pleased to meet the name of that elegant writer and

* [Of which Dr. Percy has given a curious list from the Pepysian
library, in the notes to his Essay on Ancient Minstrels.]

t See Song XLIX. Part III. One of his ballads is reprinted by
Percy. [Others occur in the library of the society of Antiqtiarie*,
and in the Roxburghe suite of black letter ballads.]

ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixxix

accomplished gentleman sir Henry Wotton. Dr. Donne's
imitation of Marlow, and other pieces, intitle him to a
place in the list. And of the following song by Ben
Jonson, Anacreon, had Anacreon written in English,
need not have been ashamed.

Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine,
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine :
The thirst that from the soul doth rise

Doth ask a drink divine,
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a chance that there

It could not withered be :
But thou thereon did'st only breathe,

And sent'st it back to me,
Since when it grows and smells, I swear,

Not of itself, but thee.

The facetious bishop Corbet is likewise an author of
this reign. His ' Fairies' Farewell' and f Distracted
Puritan,' have much humour and merit. The poems of
Carew afford many excellent songs : a little more sim-
plicity might have considerably increased the number.
Bishop King, whom it would be injustice to forget, must
have written toward the end of this reign.

Waller, born in 1605, may be esteemed the first song-
writer, as well as the best poet of the reign of Charles I.
Milton has left us a few songs, which would have ap-
peared to possess more merit if they had fallen from an
author of less dignity. Suckling's chef d'oeuvre is his

VOL. I. h

Ixxx A HISTORICAL ESSAY

' I'll tell thee, Dick.' It is to be regretted that the poeti-
cal excellence of this celebrated composition should be
degraded by grossness of sentiment and impurity of lan-
guage. Butler and sir John Denham chiefly signalized
theirselves in spirited attacks on the gloomy and barba-
rous Roundheads. Indeed the Rebellion and Usurpation
form the epoch of satiric songs ; with which the Cava-
liers seem, until the Restoration, to have kept up a
constant poetic fire, which, if it did not any great ex-
ecution, at least kept the attention of loyalty awake,
and, in some measure, no doubt, contributed to that
happy event.

Cowley, who commenced author at a very early age,
is likewise to be considered as a song- writer of this
reign. His ' Chronicle' is an admirable performance,
and, had his judgement and taste been equal to his viva-
city and wit, would not have been the only song he had
left us to commend. Lovelace, L'Estrange, and Shirley,
were also writers of songs in this reign.*

The reign of Charles the Second is the Augustan age
of song : no period having produced so great a number
of excellent writers in this species of poetry. This prince
was not only the admirer and patron of the art, he cul-
tivated it hisself. We have a song of his beginning —

1 1 pass all my hours in a shady old grove,'

which, though by no means remarkable for poetical
merit, has certainly enough for the composition of a
king. Dryden was undoubtedly great in every species of
poetry, but the songs of Etherege, Eaton, Sedley,

* [See the first and last of these introduced as lyric writers in
Mr. Geo. ElKs's * Specimens of the Early English Poets,' vol. iii.]

ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixxxi

Rochester, Dorset,, and Sheffield (afterwards duke of
Bucks), are master-pieces in this ; some of them being
absolutely without equal in the language. Amongst
these is to be ranked Dorset's incomparable address to
the ladies, written at sea, on the eve of an engagement.*
Otway's pathetic remonstrance to his inexorable mis-
tress, would have entitled him to the character of an
elegant writer, even if it had been his only composition.
Scroope, Walsh, and many other song-writers of merit,
are to be singled out of

* The mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease.'

Mrs. Behn deserves a more particular acknowledgement.
And we should do injustice to a laborious, and, accord-
ing to his own account, most successful and happy writer,
were we to omit the honoured name of Tom D'Urfey ;
who, besides that he composed more songs, perhaps,
than all his contemporaries put together j most of them
being great favourites with the nation, and many of them
still remaining so, particularly his loyal ode of ' Joy to
great Ca3sar ; ' which, once echoed by all ranks, is yet
frequently chanted with delight ; and, as Mr. Addison
pleasantly observes, gave the Whigs (to whom honest
Tom was a sworn foe, till he lived to see them get into
power) a blow they were never able to recover during
that reign j was a very good musician, and possessed an
excellent voice ; with which he had frequently the high
honour to entertain his majesty at Newmarket and else-
where ', the good-natured monarch familiarly conde-

* It is strange that any person should be so blind to the plaintive
tenderness of this elegant performance, as to mistake the wit and
point with which it abounds for intentional burlesque !

Ixxxii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

seen ding to hold the paper, and accompany his artful
strains, or beat the time by gentle taps upon his
shoulder.*

The short time of the misguided and unfortunate
James might pass unnoticed. We only discover, in the
party songs of this period, the most rancorous hatred
displayed in the grossest scurrility. But what an astonish-
ing effect these vulgar and despicable rhapsodies had
upon the temper of the times, we may, in some measure,
conjecture from the brags of that unprincipled character,
lord (afterwards marquis of) Wharton, who was wont to
boast that, by the most foolish of them all,f he had
rhimed the king out of his dominions.

James was not insensible to the powers of poetry and
wit 5 he had conceived a great friendship for Wycherly,
on whom he bestowed many favours. We mention this
poet as a song-writer ; but all his performances, as such,
however well adapted they might be to the licentious
manners and too luxuriant wit of his age, are now de-
servedly neglected.

The Revolution, one may be certain, did not take
place without giving rise to numbers of songs and bal-
lads both for and against that important event. But all
of them are too strongly tinctured with the venom of
party, to retain the least appearance of merit.

The prince who obtained possession of the vacant
throne was too much of the phlegmatic Dutchman to be
sensible of the merit, or susceptible of the power of

* The king understood music sufficiently to sing the tenor part of
an easy song. He would sometimes sing with Mr. Gostling, one of
the gentlemen of his chapel, who was master of a fine voice ; the
dnke of York accompanying them on the guitar. — Hawkins, iv. 359«

t Lilliburlero.— See Percy, ii. 367.

ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixxxiii

poetry, music, or song. Even the harp of Orpheus
would have made no impression upon him. Her majesty,
however, as we learn from a curious anecdote, had not
sacrificed to a throne her infantine relish for the homely
English ballad.*

Prior is the first poet of eminence we meet with after
this period. His songs are numerous 5 most of them are
spirited, ingenious, and witty ; a few are tender, sen-
timental and pathetic ; all excellent of their kind. Lans-
down, a writer of name, has left us some indifferent
songs. Congreve, gay, spritely, and licentious, too fre-
quently suffered his wit to surprise his judgement. The
little piece, however, beginning

1 False though she be to me and love/
is no unpleasing proof of what he was capable of. The

* " The queen having a mind one afternoon to be entertained with
" music, sent to Mr. Goatling, (then one of the chapel, and after-
" wards subdean of St. Paul's,) to Henry Purcell and Mrs. Arabella
" Hunt, (who had a very fine voice, and an admirable hand on the
" lute,) with a request to attend her ; they obeyed her commands'
" Mr. Gostling and Mrs. Hunt sung several compositions of Purcell,
'* who accompanied them on the harpsichord ; at length, the queen
" beginning to grow tired, asked Mrs. Hunt if she could not sing the
" old Scots ballad 'Cold and Raw?' Mrs. Hunt answered yes; and
" sung it. to her lute. Purcell was all the while sitting at the harp-
" sichord unemployed, and not a little nettled at the queen's pre-
" ference of a vulgar ballad to his music ; but seeing her majesty
" delighted with this tune, he determined that she. should hear it
11 upon another occasion ; and accordingly in the next birth-day
" song, viz. that for the year 1692, he composed an air to the words,
" ' May her bright example chase vice in troops out of the land,
" the bass whereof is the tune to l Cold and Raw ;' it is printed in
" the second part of the ' Orpheus Britannicus,' and is, note for note,
" the same with the Scots tune." — Hawkins, iv. 6.

Ixxxiv A HISTORICAL ESSAY

songs of Rowe, on the contrary, are all soft, tender and
plaintive. The consequence is, that his ' Despairing'
Shepherd' will be admired when * Buxom Joan' is en-
tirely forgotten.

With Steele, who has left such a favorable specimen of
his talents for two different kinds of song, the tender
and the lively, as to make us regret they were not more
exerted, we may commence the reign of queen Ann.
Philips's happy version of Sappho is deservedly esteemed
a considerable acquisition to English song. The name
of Addison will do the subject more credit than the two
pieces to which it could with certainty be prefixed may
be thought to do him. The first of them, however, is in
the true spirit of Rochester, and has abundant merit.
And there is some reason to suspect that many of his
best songs have been usually printed either under a dif-
ferent name, or without any name at all. Tickell has
united the tenderest sentiments with the most interest-
ing narrative : ' Colin and Lucy' is unrivalled. Of the
few songs of Parnell, though none of them seems to be
remarkable for that peculiar sweetness which distinguishes
his more serious compositions, the little pastoral in the
present volume has been always admired. Hill, without
his affectation and love of conceit, would have been, if
not a poet, a song- writer of eminence. He is one of
those writers whom we can hardly praise, and must be
loth to condemn. Byrom's beautiful and celebrated
pastoral song of ' Colin and Phoebe' was the production of
this sera. Of this species of song simplicity is the prin-
cipal requisite, but even simplicity may be affected, ex-
cessive and puerile j and such has not, perhaps without
reason, been pronounced the fault of this popular per-
formance ; though much may, doubtless, be alledged in

ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixxxv

extenuation of it, from the nature of his subject and the
practice of greater writers.

Gay, the accomplished, the inimitable Gay, is the or-
nament of the ensuing reign. The infinite obligations
which the lovers of song are under to this admirable
writer can never be sufficiently expressed. Lively,
humorous, witty, elegant, tender and pathetic j happy
and successful in whatever the universality of his genius
prompted him to undertake 5 his spirit, his sentiment,
his language are pure nature j and, while a love of poetry
and song, or a particle of taste remains among us, will
certainly be remembered, and must always please. The
ingenious and libertine duke of Wharton is a song-
writer of this period. Booth, Croxall, Concanen, Bud-
gell, lady M. W. Montague, sir W. Yonge, and others,
are intitled, with various degrees of merit, to the same
character. Carey ought not to be mentioned without
every commendation. His happy simplicity, and un-
affected manner, interest and charm the reader of natural
taste. ' Sally in our Alley' was a particular favourite of
Mr. Addison ; and his judgment (which, however, wants
no countenance,) is confirmed by its popularity.

The name of Pope will shed a lustre over the long
reign of George II. in which we have the gratification to
introduce him. The single performance he conde-
scended to leave is an exquisite parody or satirical imi-
tation, written in 1733, in the character of e ' a person of
" quality," of the fashionable sing-song of that and the
preceding age. It was inadvertently omitted in the col-
lection, but the reader will not be sorry to find it here,

Fluttering spread tliy purple pinions,

Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart ;
I a slave in thy dominions ;

Nature must give way to art.

Ixxxvi A HISTORICAL ESSAY

Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,

Nightly nodding o'er your flocks
See my weary days consuming

All beneath yon flowery rocks.

Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping,

Mourn' d Adonis, darling youth ;
Him the boar, in silence creeping,

Gor'd with unrelenting tooth.

Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers ;

Fair Discretion string the lyre ;
Soothe my ever-waking slumbers : ; j

Bright Apollo, lend thy choir.

Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors,

Arm'd in adamantine chains,
Lead me to the crystal mirrors,

Watering soft Elysian plains.

Mournful cypress, verdant willow,

Gilding my Aurelia's brows,
Morpheus, hovering o'er my pillow,

Hear me pay my dying vows.

Melancholy smooth meander,

Swiftly purling in a round,
OH thy margin lovers wander,

Wiih thy flowe.y chaplets crown'd.

Thus when Philomela drooping,

Softly seeks her absent mate,
See the bird of Juno stooping,

Melody resigns to fate.*

* Compare Song XL. Class I. See also Hill's Poem?. The
musical reader will be at no loss for a pertinent tune, who recollects
the admired air of

' How imperfect is expression /
a composition in the true spirit of Pope.

ON NATIONAL SONG. Ixxxvii

While this great poet was thus endeavouring to laugh
out of countenance the flowery insipidity, discordant
images, and unnatural conceit of a favourite species of
love-song, his friend Swift was employed in turning into
deserved ridicule the strange affected musical jargon then
in vogue.* And never, surely, was any thing more
justly conceived, or more happily executed, than these
two efforts of wit and genius, in support of common
sense and true taste. Nor does a want of success, (if
that be the case) any way detract from, or lessen the
merit of the attempt. Swift, who might, with equal
propriety, have been placed in either of the two preced-
ing reigns, produced a number of political, satirical, and
jocose pieces, upon common and popular subjects, which
appear to have been designed for the capacity and notice
of the vulgar, in aid of the cantilena trivice of his time.
' Clever Tom Clinch' is a master-piece in its way. But
how far these compositions suited the comprehension and
taste of an English or Irish mob we are not certified.
The known song-writers of this period are, as it might
be naturally expected, indifferently numerous, and many
of them of the first eminence. The beautiful songs of
Lyttelton resemble the gentle murmurs of the turtle j
Shenstone sings with all the elegant simplicity of an
Arcadian shepherd ; and the nightingale's plaintive strains
are emulated by the elegiac tenderness of Collins. Ches-
terfield has left a few songs ; they are neat and pointed,
and would not have deserved less commendation if the
flippant muse of their noble author could have been
always kept within the pale of delicacy and virtue. The
names of Middlesex and Glover will be immortalised by

* See his incomparable Cantata, set by Larape.

Ixxxviii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

' Arno's Vale' and s Hosier's Ghost.' The compositions,
at least, will scarcely be forgotten, if the authors should.
Dr. Johnson, though still living, is a song-writer of this
reign. Several of his performances are inserted in the
present collection. But song is a province in which this
great writer does not appear with his usual advantage.
His pen is much too heavy for so light a subject. Mr.
Jenyns stands in the same predicament ; not, indeed, as
to the character of his compositions, which for the graces
of stile and manner admit few superiors. The cause of
poetry, indeed, is more indebted to this elegant writer
than that of virtue and innocence. But the situation of
his most reprehensible production in the present volume
will serve as an antidote to the poison it contains.

Dr. Dalton's additions to Milton's Mask have unex-
ampled merit. The many elegant and spirited songs
which he has so judiciously introduced into this admirable
drama are some of the most finished and beautiful com-
positions in the language.* All of them were not, it
must be confessed, equally proper for the present pub-
lication, but no reflection is intended to be thrown on
those which have been designedly omitted ; as there is
not one which does not, in some degree, contribute to
the perfection and moral of the piece.

Mr. Whitehead, the present laureat, has given us two
excellent songs. It were to be wished that the nature of
his office had obliged him to furnish us with more. His
annual odes, though, doubtless, far superior to those of
his predecessors, are seldom remembered ; but ' Ye
belles and ye flirts' will be never forgotten.

* [Though Dr. Dalton is intitled to meritoriotis praise, yet it
seems right to remark, that some of the songs superadded to Cornus
were borrowed from the other minor productions of Milton.]

ON NATIONAL SONG. kxxix

Moore is one of the most pleasing and natural of our
song- writers. The justness and beauty of his sentiments,
and the agreeable familiarity of his language and man-
ner, render him equally intelligible and delightful to all
ranks ; at least, wherever nature can be judge. With
less affectation, Smart would probably have been intitled
to a similar character.

Dr. Percy, bishop of Dromore, the editor of, and
author of, some pieces in the ' Reliques of Ancient
English Poetry,' so frequently noticed, has, independent
of his contributions to that work, favoured the public
with one most beautiful song. It would not depreciate
the merit, though it might affect the originality, of this
elegant composition, if it were universally known to be
a close imitation of some of the most tender and poetical
passages in ' Henry and Emma.'

The late Mr. Dodsley, Dr. Akenside, Dr. Hawkes-
worth, Mr. Brerewood, Mrs. Pilkington, (the two last
of whom deserve particular commendation, although the
praise due to the former, on account of the two pieces
here inserted, is necessarily accompanied with the cen-
sure due to him on account of the two which were
obliged to be omitted) sir C. H. Williams and sir
J. Moore, are song-writers of consequence in this reign.
The list* might undoubtedly be increased with names no
less respectable. And there are numerous compositions,
which, though they might do credit to any author, have
been claimed by none.

The fertile but licentious imagination of Stevens has
supplied us with a volume of songs. It has been the

* [The list has been increased by the present Editor, with several
names deservedly high on the muster-roll of poetic fame.]

xc A HISTORICAL ESSAY

study of this celebrated bard (for he sung what he com-
posed) to promote the hilarity of the festive board, and
" set the table on a roar." And it is only fair to say,
that his attempts have generally proved successful. But
as the convivial disposition of those whom it was his
business to please was not characterised by its delicacy,
many of his compositions are such as, in a purer age,
would have obtained him rather infamy than credit. —
Woty, a genius of a similar turn, is intitled, though in a
smaller degree, to the same kind of praise.

The Vaudevilles which Garrick and Paul Whitehead
composed for the stage, toward the end of this reign, are
excellent in their kind, and well deserved the popularity
they acquired. One of these pieces is inserted in the
present collection (Vol. II. p. 61). ' Hearts of Oak' has
even greater merit, and ' In story we're told' is without
its equal in the language.

The cultivation and improvement of song is not among
the blessings of the present reign. The number of
writers and productions of merit in this, and indeed in
every other species of poetry, is comparatively small.
We have one song by Churchill, and a few by Lloyd :
but these compositions, though certainly not devoid of
merit, are far from being equal to their poetical abilities.
Goldsmith and Cunningham are song- writers of this
period. And, since it is not the extent but the excel-
lence of the composition which constitutes the poet, if
the former had produced nothing but the two stanzas
inserted under his name in the present volume, he would
have been intitled to an eminent rank. Cunningham,
though not equal to his countryman* in native genius,

* They were both from Ireland ; and born in the same year.

ON NATIONAL SONG. xci

and still less so in learned application, possesses a pleas-
ing simplicity which cannot fail to recommend him to a
reader of unadulterated taste. This simplicity may, per-
haps, in some of his compositions, be thought too great ;
but when it is known that they were necessarily adapted
to the intellects of a country-theatre, little censure can
be justly incurred by the poet.

BickerstafF has been fortunate that so many of his best
songs can be detached from the dramatic characters to
which they belong. Had his integrity and candour been
equal to his genius, he would have merited a greater
praise. To the amiable muse of Mrs. Barbauld we are
considerably indebted. The ingenious and elegant author
of the ' School for Scandal' has shown that the drama is
not the - only species of the poetical art at his command.
His songs are not less remarkable for their singularity
than for their merit -, few of any consequence having
appeared for some years before the ' Duenna,' and none,
beside his own, since.

It will not be conceived necessary that one should take
particular notice of the songs which are introduced upon
the stage, or of those which are annually sung at other
places of public amusement. The former are rarely se-
parable from the drama with which they are produced,
and therefore generally partake its fate : and of the
latter very few have survived, and not one, perhaps,
deserved to survive the season of its birth. There was
once, indeed, a period when most of the songs which
thus appeared in public were the avowed composition of
eminent masters both in the poetic and in the harmonic
art : when Beard sung what Garrick or Moore wrote,
and Arne or Worgan set to music. But these beautiful
and elegant performances have no longer any charms fen*

xcii A HISTORICAL ESSAY

the more refined taste of the present age. Though what
has been substituted in their place affords no very strik-
ing argument of the improvements or superior advantages
of the times. One might be led to think it strange that
the union of English poetry and English music should be
so entirely neglected by persons of rank and fashion in a
country where the patronage and encouragement of
music seem to be the prevailing passion. That the Tus-
can language is more harmonious than the English, and
that many of the Italian composers excel our own in art
and variety may be indisputable ; but that every thing
English should be banished from the harmonic assem-
blies of the English, and that the natural melody, elegant
poetry, and sterling sense of their native country, should
be sacrificed to the artificial and extravagant harmony,
and unmeaning, ridiculous, and frequently unintelligible
lyric productions of a foreign climate, is a practice which
can scarcely be thought to do much honour either to the
heads or to the hearts of those who favour it.

There is nothing, perhaps, from which the real cha-
racter of a nation can be collected with so much certainty
as the manners and diversions of the lower or rather
lowest classes of the inhabitants. The principal amuse-
ment of the common people of every country and in
every age has been a turn for melody and song. Many
of the vulgar songs of France and Spain possess the first
degree of poetical merit, and afford as much entertain-
ment to the highest ranks as they do to the lowest. The
common people of Italy listen with rapture to the
sublimest flights of Ariosto, whom they appear to com-
prehend as well as the ablest critic ; and difficult would
it be, in many states, to find a peasant unable to chant
his stanza of the ' Jerusalem delivered.' The English
1

ON NATIONAL SONG. xciii

vulgar have never, perhaps, shown such a brilliancy of
intellect, and therefore the compositions which they most
relish are hardly to be endured by those of any other de-
scription. Nothing can be more common than to see a
large crowd attending with apparent satisfaction to
rhapsodies in which, though written in a jargon, and
with a grossness perfectly suitable to such an audience, it
is evident that the composer has not understood what he
wrote, that the performer does not understand what
he sings, and that the auditors do not understand what
they hear ; and yet, what is most extraordinary, no one
of these circumstances appears to render the composition
less favourite or delightful. But even this depravity of
taste is not confined to a mob. The stage itself, the
standard of national taste, has, of k,te, with respect to
poetry and music, declined with a rapidity which not
many years since would have been scarcely thought pos-
sible. A spirit of moralising may lead us entirely from
our subject. We have solely to regret the loss of melody
and song, which, (with objects, perhaps, of far greater
importance,) it is much to be feared, are fallen to rise
no more ! !

The professed purpose of this slight essay being to
exhibit some account of the history or state of Song of
such European nations as are any way celebrated in this
respect, it may be deemed unpardonable to omit all
notice of the Scots, who have been long and universally
famed for the beauty and elegance of their pastoral songs,
and for the pathetic simplicity of their natural melo-
dies, which interest and affect the mind beyond any other
species of musical modulation. But, as an accurate in-

xciv A HISTORICAL ESSAY

vestigation and ample discussion of this curious and
important subject is intended for a future opportunity,
when it will be naturally expected, and may more pro-
perly appear -, it is thought sufficient, on the present oc-
casion, just to inform the reader that the omission has
not been unintentional.

[THE investigation here announced was fully entered
upon, and pursued (to use the writer's own words)
' ' with diligent inquiry, extensive reading, and unwearied
" assiduity." The combined result of this studious re-
search will be found in a historical essay prefixed to an
edition of Scotish Songs, in 1794. The ' Caledonian
Muse,' a selection of poems made by Ritson from the
writings of North-Britons, is alluded to in that essay,
(p. xxxvi.) and was intended for publication in the year
1735 j but, owing to a part of the impression having suf-
fered at the printing-house by accident of fire, it did not
appear.* At Stockton in the year 1784, and at New-
castle in 3792, Ritson printed a small local ballad-selec-
tion, in the form, and size, and quality of those com-
monly vended by itinerant hawkers, intitled ' The
' Bishopric Garland, or Durham Minstrel j being a
c choice collection of excellent songs, relating to the
' above county j full of agreeable variety and pleasant

* [Mr. Triphook jun. bookseller in St. James's Street, has pur-
chased that portion of the volume which escaped conflagration, and
purposes to complete and publish it, according to the original plan.]

ON NATIONAL SONG; xcv

f Mirth.' In 1788 he printed at York a similar assem-
blage, intitled, ( The Yorkshire Garland ; being a curious
f collection of old and new Songs concerning that famous
' County.' In 1793, at Newcastle, he printed f The Nor-
' thumberland Garland, or Newcastle Nightingale ; a
' matchless collection of famous Songs :' and in 1802, at
Durham, he printed ' The North Country Chorister j
e an unparalleled variety of excellent Songs, collected
' and published together, for general amusement, by a
f Bishopric ballad-singer.' These, he declared to the
present Editor, e< had sold better than any other of his
various publications, and were mostly out of print."
They consequently had become rarities $ and as such,
have been reprinted in one small octavo volume, forming
an appendage to Ritson's more acknowledged undertak-
ings. His edition of ' Ancient Songs, from the time of
( King Henry the Third to the Revolution,' is perhaps
the most curious, and certainly the most interesting of
his works to antiquarian readers. It follows very closely
that elegant mode of illustrating our poets, which origin-
ated with Dr. Percy, and has since been so advantageously
adopted by Mr. Ellis and Mr. Southey. To the ' Speci-
' mens' of the former, Ritson meant to conform his
' Ancient Songs,' in the hope of obtaining for them
poetic popularity ; and had devested the early classes of
Saxon characters, and the later of obsolete orthography,
in his preparations for an extended reprint, which unfor-
tunately (at the morbid close of his life) were all de-
stroyed, except the article by Mr. Walter Scott, which
closes the second volume of this publication.

At London, in -the year 1796, Alexander Dalrymple,
esq. (hydrographer to the Admiralty, and brother to
Lord Hailes of Session,) printed, but scarcely published,

VOL. I. i

xcvi A HISTORICAL ESSAY

' A Collection of English Songs, with an Appendix of
' Original Pieces.' The latter were mostly written by
his brother, Lieut. -Col. James Dalrymple, and bespeak
the bias of fraternal partiality : the former evince more
judgment, though several of them are unfit to be classed
with vocal poems, and few are culled from novel sources.
In 1803 came forth the ' Minstrelsy of the Scottish
' Border,' which at once secured a lasting celebrity for
the compilation, and for the learning and taste of its
distinguished editors. This also led the way to Mr.
Jamieson's ' Popular Ballads and Songs' in 1806', and to
Mr. Finlay's * Scottish historical and romantic Ballads'
in 1808 : two publications highly creditable to them-
selves and to their national poesy. Since that time Mr.
R. H. Evans, of London, has much enhanced the value of
his father's four volumes of ' Old Ballads, historical and
' narrative,' by additions taken from rare printed copies
and MSS. Those additions, however, would have be-
come more valuable to many readers, had the sources
whence they were derived been pointed out, and had
some of them possessed a fitter claim to the title of
Ballads.

But I must not close this brief survey of such con-
temporaneous publications as bear analogy to the present,
without an especial notice of ' A Collection of Songs,
' moral, sentimental, instructive, and amusing j selected
' by the Rev. James Plumptre, Fellow of Clare-hall,
' Cambridge,' 18O6-8. It was the dignified object of
this pious philanthropist to render the arts of poetry and
music subservient to the cause of virtue and religion,
and his design, therefore, cannot be too highly extolled.
But it has been questioned by critics of the highest
moral rank, whether, in the execution of his laudable

ON NATIONAL SONG. xcvri

purpose, he may not have e carried the matter somewhat
f too far ?'* The present Editor, who has the honour to
call some of those Critics his friends, is so far a party to
their opinion, that he has altogether refrained from any
intermixture of f spiritual songs' with the ensuing series
of amatory lyrics, anacreontics, dithyrambics, and popu-
lar ballads : not from yielding to Mr. Plumptre in his de-
sire that all who assemble on any festal occasion should be
c merry and wise ; ' but from a deliberate apprehension,
that the practical attempt to mingle sacred subjects with
the vocal conviviality of a feast, might fail to produce
either mirth or wisdom : and from conceiving that such
unsuitableness might give pain to the serious mind,
while it provoked a sarcasm from the thoughtless ; since
propriety, not only in rhetoric, but in all things, seems
to constitute the first, the second, and the third essential
requisite.

After what is here cursorily advanced (I hope without
offence) against the course pursued by Mr. Plumptre, let
me be allowed to tender that gentleman unfeigned re-
spect for his motives and his views. It is a compliment
to myself to say — I entirely agree with him in principle,
as to the desideratum of trying to make amusement harm-
less ; and he will find I so far agree with him in practice,
as to have taken the liberty of introducing two of his
compositions among my items of addenda to the Miscel-
laneous Songs. Had 1 been the compiler instead of the
republisher of this collection, or had Ritson more tena-
ciously adhered to his own prefatory announcement, a
few of the articles in each- volume would certainly have
been retrenched. By such expurgation, the work might

* See British Critic, vol. xxx. p. 195.

xcviii A HISTORICAL ESSAY.

have appeared more in consonance with a refined moral
taste, and more in concord with the following metrical
apostrophe from the pen of a beloved relative.

Oh ! welcome each poetic lay,

With sound combiu'd iu union bland ;
If rightly ye exert your sway,

And move with virtue hand in hand :

If to sweet piety ye tend,

If social Jove ye smile upon,
If heart or fancy ye befriend, —

Then welcome verse, and welcome song.

But if ye cast deceitful hues,
Transforming both, o'er good and bad ;

If Vice is sanction'd by the Muse,
And in the charms of music clad :

If holy things are hence profan'd,
The world's false ways if hence approv'd ;

From rea ling be the eye restrained,
From listening be the ear remov'd.

While nnabus'd — the lyric lay,

Tiie tuneful note, deserve our love ;
For thus the blest their homage pay,

In realms of harmony above ! J

PART

PART THE FIRST.

CLASS I.— SONG I.

AH Chloris ! could I now but sit

As unconcern'd, as when
Your infant beauty could beget

No happiness nor pain.
When I this dawning did admire,

And prais'd the coming day,
I little thought the rising fire

Would take my rest away.

Your charms in harmless childhood lay,

Like metals in a mine 5
Age from no face takes more away,

Than youth conceal'd in thine
VOL. I. B

LOVE-SONGS.

But as your charms insensibly
To their perfection prest 3

So love as unperceiv'd did fly,
And center 'd in my breast.

My passion with your beauty grew,

While Cupid at my heart,
Still as his mother favour 'd you,

Threw a new flaming dart.
Each gloried in their wanton part $

To make a lover, he
Employ 'd the utmost of his art ;

To make a beauty, she.

SONG II.

BY MISS AIKIN *.

WHEN first upon your tender cheek
I saw the morn of beauty break,

With mild and cheering beam ;
I bow'd before your infant shrine,
The earliest sighs you had were mine,

And you my darling theme.

I saw you in that opening morn
For beauty's boundless empire born,

And first confess' d your sway j
And ere your thoughts, devoid of art,
Could learn the value of a heart,

I gave my heart away.

» Now Mrs. Barbauld,

LOVE-SONGS.

I watch' d the dawn of every grace,
And gaz'd upon that angel face,

While yet 'twas safe to gaze j
And fondly bless' d each rising charm,
Nor thought such innocence could harm

The peace of future days.

But now despotic o'er the plains
The awful noon of beauty reigns,

And kneeling crowds adore ;
These charms arise too fiercely bright,
Danger and death attend the sight,

And I must hope no more.

Thus to the rising god of day
Their early vows the Persians pay,

And bless the spreading fire j
Whose glowing chariot mounting soon
Pours on their heads the burning noon,

They sicken and expire.

SONG III.

WHEN first I saw thee graceful move,

Ah me ! what meant my throbbing breast ?

Say, soft confusion, art thou love ?
If love thou art, then farewell rest !

Since doom'd I am to love thee, fair,
Though hopeless of a warm return,

Yet kill me not with cold despair j
3ut let me live, and let me burn.
B <2

LOVE-SONGS.

With gentle smiles assuage the pain
Those gentle smiles did first create :

And, though you cannot love again,
In pity, oh ! forbear to hate.

SONG IV.
THE ENCHANTMENT.

BY MR. OTWAY.

I DID but look and love awhile,

"Twas but for one half hour ;
Then to resist I had no will,

And now I have no pow'r.

To sigh, and wish, is all my ease ;

Sighs, which do heat impart,
Enough to melt the coldest ice,

Yet cannot warm your heart.

O ! would your pity give my heart

One corner of your breast j
'Twould learn of yours the winning art,

And quickly steal the rest.

SONG V.

BY VISCOUNT MOLESWORTH.

ALMERIA'S face, her shape, her air,

With charms resistless wound the heart j

In vain you for defence prepare,

When from her eyes Love throws his dart.

LOVE-SONGS.

So strong, so swift the arrow flies,,
Such sure destruction flying makes j

The bold opposer quickly dies !
The fugitive it overtakes !

Nor stratagem, nor force avails,

No feign" d submission sets you free ;

One look o'er all your art prevails,
There's no way safe, but not to see !

For such the magic of her arms,
And wounding she does so allure ;

The unexperienc'd court their harms j
The wounded never wish a cure.

SONG VI.
THE VAIN ADVICE.

BY MRS. COCKBURN.

AH gaze not on those eyes ! forbear
That soft enchanting voice to hear :
Not looks of basilisks give surer death,
Not syrens sing with more destructive breath.

Fly, if thy freedom thou'dst maintain.

Alas ! I feel, th* advice is vain !
A heart, whose safety but in flight does lie,
Is too far lost to have the pow'r to fly.

LOVE-SONGS.
SONG VII.

BY AARON HILL, ESd.

OH ! forbear to bid me slight her,
Soul and senses take her part j

Could my death itself delight her,
Life should leap, to leave my heart.

Strong, though soft, a lover's chain,

Charm'd with woe, and pleas'd with pain.

Though the tender flame were dying,
Love would light it, at her eyes j

Or, her tuneful voice applying,
Through my ear, my soul surprise.

Deaf, I see the fate I shun -,

Blind, I hear I am undone

SONG VIII.

BY MATHEW PRIOR, ESQ. *

WHILE from my looks, fair nymph, you guess
The secret passions of my mind ;

My heavy eyes, you say, confess
A heart to love and grief inclin'd.

* [Dr. Aikin has not affixed the name of PRIOR to this song, nor
do I find it among his works, in the editions of Bell or Sharpe,
Anderson or Chalmers.]

LOVE-SONGS.

There needs, alas ! but little art
To have this fatal secret found j

With the same ease you threw the dart,
'Tis certain you may show the wound.

How can I see you and not love,
While you as opening East are fair ?

While cold as northern blasts you prove,
How can I love, and not despair ?

The wretch in double fetters bound
Your potent mercy may release $

Soon, if my love but once were crown' d,
Fair prophetess ! my grief would cease.

SONG IX.
THE SNOW- BALL.

(From Petronius Afranius.)

BY SOAME JENYNS, EStt.

WHITE as her hand, fair Julia threw

A ball of silver snow j
The frozen globe fir'd as it flew,

My bosom felt it glow.

Strange pow'r of love ! whose great command

Can thus a snow-ball arm j
When sent, fair Julia, from thy hand,

E'en ice itself can warm.

LOVE-SONGS.

How should we then secure our hearts
Love's pow'r we all must feel j

Who thus can, by strange magic arts,
In ice his flame conceal.

"Tis thou alone, fair Julia, know,
Canst quench my fierce desire j

But not with water, ice, or snow.
But with an equal fire.

SONG X.

BY SIR JOHN VANBRUGH*.

' I SMILE at Love, and all his arts,'

(The charming Cynthia cried ; )
' Take heed, for Love has piercing darts,'

(A wounded swain replied : )

' Once free, and blest, as you are now,

' I trifled with his charms,
' I pointed at his little bow,

' And sported with his arms :

• 'Till urg'd too far — " Revenge," he cries !

' A fatal shaft he drew,
' Which took its passage through your eyes,

1 And to my heart it flew :

* In the comedy of i The Relapse.'

LOVE-SONGS.

( To tear it thence I tried in vain,
' To strive, I quickly found,

f Was only to increase the pain,
' And mortify the wound ;

' Too well, alas ! I fear, you know

f What anguish I endure,
' Since what your eyes alone could do,

( Your heart alone can cure.'

SONG XI.

BY THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

WHILST on those lovely looks I gaze,

To see a wretch pursuing,
In raptures of a blest amaze,

His pleasing happy ruin j
'Tis not for pity that I move ;

His fate is too aspiring,
Whose heart, broke with a load of love,

Dies wishing and admiring.

But if this murder you'd forego,

Your slave from death removing,
Let me your art of charming know,

Or learn you mine of loving.
But whether life or death betide,

In love 'tis equal measure j
The victor lives with empty pride,

The vanquish' d die with pleasure.

10 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XII.

I LIK'D, but never lov'd, before

I saw thy charming face j
Now ev'ry feature I adore,

And dote on ev'ry grace.

She ne'er shall know the kind desire

Which her cold look denies,
Unless my heart, that's all on fire,

Should sparkle through my eyes.

Then if no gentle glance return

A silent leave to speak j
My heart, which would for ever burn,

Must sigh, alas ! and break. O.

SONG XIII.

BY MR. ADDISON.

MY love was fickle once and changing,
Nor e'er would settle in my heart j

From beauty still to beauty ranging,
In every face I found a dart.

'Twas first a charming shape enslav'd me,
An eye then gave the fatal stroke :

Till by her wit Corinna sav'd me,
And all my former fetters broke.

LOVE-SONGS. ll

But now a long and lasting anguish

For Belvidera I endure ;
Hourly I sigh, and hourly languish,

Nor hope to find the wonted cure.

For here the false inconstant lover,
After a thousand beauties shown,

Does new surprising charms discover,
And finds variety in one.

SONG XIV.

BY MR. SOUTHERN*.

I NEVER saw a face till now,

That could my fancy move ;
I lik'd, and ventur'd many a vow,

But durst not think of love :
Till beauty charming ev'ry sense,

An easy conquest made j
And show'd the vainness of defence,

When Phillis does invade.

But oh ! her colder heart denies

The thoughts her looks inspire j
And while in ice that frozen lies,

Her eyes dart only fire.
Between extremes I am undone,

Like plants too northward set ;
Burnt by too violent a sun,

Or starv'd for want of heat. O.

In the ' Disappointment, or Mother in Fashion.'

LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XV.

WITH women I have pass'd my days,

And ev'ry minute bless 'd ;
No secret sigh controul'd my ease,

No wish disturb' d my rest.
Thus, void of care, my hours have flown ;
For still I found my heart my own.

I often prais'd a handsome face,

Extoll'd a sparkling eye,
And safe, examin'd ev'ry grace,

Without a real sigh.

Thus, void of care, my hours have flown j
For still I found my heart my own.

I heard the force of sprightly wit,
With strength of reason fir'd,

Thoughts that a muse's tongue might fit,
And each bright turn admir'd.

Thus, void of care, my hours have flown ;

For still I found my heart my own.

I listen' d to the\Syren's voice

By magic art improv'd ;
The Syren could not fix my choice,

The song alone I lov'd.
Thus, void of care, my hours have flown j
For still I found my heart my own.

But now, O Love I own thy reign,
I find thee in my heart $

LOVE-SONGS.

I know, I feel the pleasing pain,

'Twas Chloe threw the dart.
Chloe her utmost power has shown,
My heart is now no more my own.

I saw, I heard, and felt the flame,
For Chloe smil'd and spoke j

O Cupid, take another aim,
Or else my heart is broke !

To Chloe let the dart be thrown,

And make her heart no more her own

SONG XVI.

WHY will Florella, when I gaze,

My ravish' d eyes reprove j
And chide them from the only face

They can behold with love }
To shun your scorn, and ease my care,

I seek a nymph more kind j
And, while I rove from fair to fair,

Still gentle usage find.

But oh ! how faint is ev'ry joy,

Where nature has no part :
New beauties may my eyes employ,

But you engage my heart.
So restless exiles doom'd to roam,

Meet pity every where ;
Yet languish for their native home,

Though death attends them there. O.

141 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XVH.

BY LORD LYTTELTON*.

SAY, Myra, why is gentle Love

A stranger to that mind 5
Which pity and esteem can move ;

Which can be just and kind ?

Is it, because you fear to share

The ills that love molest,
The jealous doubt, the tender care,

That rack the am'rous breast ?

Alas ! by some degree of woe
We ev'ry bliss must gain :

The heart can ne'er a transport know,
That never feels a pain.

SONG XVIII.

BY MATHEW PRIOR, ES«.

IN vain you tell your parting lover,
You wish fair winds may waft him over
Alas ! what winds can happy prove,
That bear me far from what I love ?
Alas ! what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain,
From slighted vows and cold disdain ?

* < Written in the year 1732.'

LOVE-SONGS. 15

Be gentle, and in pity choose

To wish the wildest tempests loose :

That thrown again upon the coast,

Where first my shipwreck' d heart was lost,

I may once more repeat my pain -,

Once more in dying notes complain

Of slighted vows, and cold disdain.

SONG XIX.

Fain would you ease my troubled heart,

And by examples prove,
That men unhurt may feel the dart,

And bear the pangs of love.

Why should not I then undergo

The gen'ral doom of all ?
'Tis granted, most survive the blow,

Yet many by it fall.

Your counsels may my thanks engage,

But not my love controul j
Alas ! such juleps ne'er assuage

This fever of the soul.

Such to the burning patient give,
When fate approaches nigh -,

Tell him that thousands through it live,
While he must by it die.

16 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XX.

WHY, Delia, ever when I gaze,
Appears in frowns that lovely face ?
Why are these smiles to me denied,
That gladden ev'ry heart beside >
In vain your eyes my flame reprove j
T may despair, but still must love.

From sweetest airs I sought relief,
And hop'd from music, cure for grief ;
Fool that I was ! the thrilling sound
Serv'd only to increase the wound ;
I, while for rest I fondly strove,
Forgot that music strengthens love.

To pleasures of a different kind

Soon undeceiv'd I turn'd my mind j

I sought the fair, the gay, the young,

And dress'd, and play'd, and danc'd, and sung ;

Vain joys ! too weak my heart to move,

Ah ! what are you to her I love ?

When drooping on the bed of pain,

I look'd on every hope as vain -,

When pitying friends stood weeping by, .

And Death's pale shade seem'd hovering nigh ;

No terror could my flame remove,

Or steal a thought from her I love.

Absence may bring relief, I cried,
And straight the dreadful hope I tried :

LOVE-SONGS. 17

Alas ! in vain was ev'ry care ;
Still in my heart I bore my fair ;
Ah ! whither, whither shall I rove,
To shun despair, or fly from love ?

SONG XXI.

BY ROBERT WOLSELEY, ESQ..*

AH ! blame me not, if no despair
A passion you inspire can end j

Nor think it strange, too charming fair,
If love, like other flames, ascend.

If to approach a saint with prayer
Unworthy votaries pretend,

Above all merit, Heaven and you

To the sincere are only due.

Long did respect awe my proud aim,
And fear t' offend my madness cover,

Like you it still reprov'd my flame,

And in the friend would hide the lover j

But by things that want a name
I the too bold truth discover :

My words in vain are in my power

My looks betray me every hour.

* [The younger brother of 3ir Charles Wolseley, of Stafford-
shire. He was sent envoy to Brussels about the year 1693 ; trans-
lated the sixth book of Virgil's /Eneid, and wrote some other pieces
in verse and prose.]

VOL. I. C

18 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XXII.
THE SILENT LOVER.

BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

WRONG not, sweet mistress of my heart !

The merit of true passion,
With thinking that he feels no smart,

Who sues for no compassion.

Since, if my plaints were not t' approve
The conquest of thy beauty j

It comes not from defect of love,
But fear t' exceed my duty.

For, knowing that I sue to serve

A saint of such perfection,
As all desire, but none deserve,
A place in her affection.

I rather choose to want relief,
Than venture the revealing :

Where glory recommends the grief,
Despair disdains the healing.

Thus those desires that boil so high

In any mortal lover,
When reason cannot make them die,

Discretion then must cover.

LOVE-SONGS. 19

Yet when discretion doth bereave

The plaints that I should utter,
Then your discretion may perceive

That silence is a suitor.

Silence in love bewrays more woe
Than words, though ne'er so witty -,

A beggar that is dumb, you know,
May challenge double pity.

Then wrong not, dearest to my heart !

My love for secret passion :
He smarteth most that hides his smart,

And sues for no compassion.

SONG XXIII.

You may cease to complain,

For your suit is in vain -f
All attempts you can make

But augment her disdain.
She bids you give o'er

While 'tis in your power,
For, except her esteem.

She can grant you no more :
Her heart has been long since

Assaulted and won,
Her truth is as lasting

And firm as the sun ;
You'll find it more easy

Your passion to cure,
Than for ever those fruitless

Endeavours endure.
C2

20 LOVE-SONGS.

You may give this advice

To the wretched and wise,
But a lover like me

Will those precepts despise ;
I scorn to give o'er,

Were it still in my power -,
Though esteem were denied me,

Yet her I'll adore :
A heart that's been touch' d,

Will some sympathy bear ;
'Twill lessen my sorrows,

If she takes a share.
I'll count it more honour

In dying her slave,
Than did her affections

My steadiness crave.

You may teU her I'll be

Her true lover, though she
Should mankind despise

Out of hatred to me ;
'Tis mean to give o'er

'Cause we get no reward ;
She lost not her worth

When I lost her regard :
My love on an altar

More noble shall burn,
I still will love onr

Without hopes of return j
I'll tell her some other

Has kindled the flame,
And I'll sigh for herself

In a counterfeit name.

LOVE-SONGS. 21

SONG XXIV.
GOOD REASON FOR LOVING.

BY MR. HENRY CAREY.

SAW you the nymph whom I adore ?

Saw you the goddess of my heart ?
And can you bid me love no more,

Or can you think I feel no smart ?

So many charms around her shine,
Who can the sweet temptation fly !

Spite of her scorn, she's so divine,
That I must love her, though I die.

SONG XXV.

BY DR. HENRY KING, BISHOP OF CHICHESTER*.

TELL me no more how fair she is,

I have no mind to hear
The story of that distant bliss

I never shall come near :
By sad experience I have found
That her perfection is my wound.

* [Son to Dr. John King, bishop of London. He published a
version of the Psalms, in 1651 ; and « Poems, Elegies, Paradoxes,
and Sonnets,' in 1657 ; among which these stanzas appeared. Dr.
King died in 1669, at the age of 78.]

$2 LOVE-SONGS.

And tell me not how fond I am

To tempt my daring fate,
From whence no triumph ever came,

But to repent too late :
There is some hope ere long I may
In silence doat myself away.

I ask no pity, Love, from thee,
Nor will thy justice blame,

So that thou wilt not envy me
The glory of my flame ;

Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies,

In that it falls her sacrifice.

SONG XXVI.

THE nymph that undoes me is fair and unkind ;
No less than a wonder by nature design' d j
She's the grief of my heart, and the joy of my eye,
And the cause of a flame that never can die.

Her mouth, from whence wit still obligingly flows,
Has the beautiful blush, and the smell of the rose ;
Love and Destiny both attend on her will,
She wounds with a look, with a frown she can kill.

The desperate lover can hope no redress,

Where beauty and rigour are both in excess 5

In Sylvia they meet, so unhappy am I,

Who sees her, must love her 5 who loves her, must die. O.

LOVE-SONGS. 23

SONG XXVII.

TAKE, oh take those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn 5
And those eyes,, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn :
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.

Hide, oh hide those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow,
. Are of those that April wears :
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee*. O.

SONG XXVII.

BY EDMUND WALLER, ESQ.

Go, lovely rose !
Tell her that wastes her time, and me,

That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.

* This delicious little sonnet has been generally ascribed to Shak-
speare, but it is far from certain that he was the author of it. The
first stanza is sung in ' Measure for Measure,' and both verses are to
be found in one of Beaumont and Fletcher's plays.

[Ritson has here used the term sonnet, in the latitudinarian sense
of the Elizabethan age of poetry, when it was frequently applied to
long or short compositions of an amatory kind.]

24 LOVE-SONGS.

Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spied j

That hadst thou sprung
In deserts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retir'd j

Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desir'd,
And not blush so to be admir'd.

Then die ! that she
The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee j

How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet, and fair.

Yet, though thou fade,
From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise j

And teach the maid,

That goodness Time's rude hand defies---
That Virtue lives when Beauty dies*.

* [This closing stanza was added by Henry Kirke White ; a
poetical genius of high attainment, and of still more exquisite pro-
mise : for whom the following lines by Dr. Watts comprise an
epitaph.

Henry ! the wonder of our eyes :

Behold his manhood scarce begun !

Behold the race of virtue run !

Behold the goal of glory won !J

LOVE-SONGS. 25

SONG XXIX.

BY MR. GAY *.

Go, rose, my Chloe's bosom grace ;

How happy should I prove,
Might I supply that envied place

With never-fading love j
There, phrenix-like, beneath her eye
Involv'd in fragrance, burn and die !

Know hapless flower, that thou shalt find

More fragrant roses there ;
I see thy withering head reclin'd

With envy and despair ;
One common fate we both must prove,
You die with envy, I with love.

SONG XXX.

Jo a Lady reading ' Sherlock on Death.'

BY THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD.

MISTAKEN fair, lay Sherlock by,

His doctrine is deceiving,
For whilst he teaches us to die,

He cheats us of our living.

To die's a lesson we shall know

Too soon, without a master j
Then let us only study now

How we may live the faster,

* In the Fable of « The Poet and the Rose. '

26 LOVE-SONGS.

To live's to love, to bless be blest,
With mutual inclination ;

Share then my ardour in your breast,
And kindly meet my passion.

But if thus blest, I may not live,

And pity you deny -,
To me at least your Sherlock give,

'Tis I must learn to die.

SONG XXXI.

WHEN first I fair Celinda knew,
Her kindness then was great j

Her eyes I could with pleasure view,
And friendly rays did meet :

In all delights we pass'd the time,
That could diversion move -,

She oft would kindly hear me'rhime
Upon some others love.

But, ah ! at last I grew too bold,
Press'd by my growing flame ,

For when my passion I had told,
She hated ev'n my name :

Thus I that could her friendship boast,

And did her love pursue -,
Am taught contentment, at the cost

Of love and friendship too.

LOVE-SONGS. 27

SONG XXXII.

BY THE REV. MR. SEWARD.

WHEN fair Serena first I knew

By friendship's happy union charm'd,

Incessant joys around her flew,

And gentle smiles my bosom warm'd.

But when, with fond officious care,
I press'd to breathe my amorous pain ;

Her lips spoke nought but cold despair,
Her eyes shot ice through every vein.

Thus, in Italia's lovely vales,

The sun his genial vigour yields 3
Reviving heat each sense regales,

And plenty crowns the smiling fields.

When nearer we approach his ray •
High on the Alps' tremendous brow,

Surpris'd we see pale sun-beams play
On everlasting hills of snow.

SONG XXXIII.

FAIREST of thy sex and best,

Admit my humble tale -y
'Twill ease the torment of my breast,

Though I shall ne'er prevail.

28 LOVE-SONGS.

No fond ambition me does move
Your favour to implore j .

I ask not for return of love,
But freedom to adore.

SONG XXXIV.

(From the French .)

BY MICHAEL WODHULL, ESft.*

COULD you guess, for I ill can repeat
The sensation I'm destin'd to prove j

'Tis something than friendship more sweet,
More passionate even than love.

For ever, when absent from you,
Pale Echo returns my fond sighs ;

But when haply your beauties I view,
On my lips the faint utterance dies.

This the secret I had to betray j

And the fate of my passion is such,

That in what I was prompted to say,
Methinks I have utter 'd too much.

# [The erudite translator of the tragedies of Euripides. This
piece first appeared in an edition of Mr. WodhulPs poems, 1772,
not printed for sale.]

LOVE-SONGS. 1

SONG XXXV.
L'AMOUR TIMIDE.

(From the French.)

BY SIR JOHN MOORE, BART.*

IF in that breast, so good, so pure,

Compassion ever lov'd to dwell j
Pity the sorrows I endure,

The cause — I must not— dare not tell.

The grief that on my quiet preys —

That rends my heart — that checks my tongue —
I fear will last me all my days,

But feel it will not last me long.

SONG XXXVI.

BY . +

THE silver rain, the pearly dew,

The gales that sweep along the mead,

The soften' d rocks 'once' sorrow knew,
And marbles have found tears to shed :

* This song has been ascribed to Dr. Johnson, but it is believed,
without foundation. [It was printed as Sir John Moore's, in an
edition of his < Poetical Trifles,' published during his life.]

t In Mrs. Clive's two act comedy of * The Rehearsal, or Bayes
in Petticoats.' [Qw. whether Lord Orford is not here adumbrated
by Ritoon as the poetical cher ami of the actress?]

30 LOVE-SONGS.

The sighing trees, in every grove,
Have pity, if they have not love.

Shall things inanimate be kind,
And every soft sensation know ;

The weeping rain, and sighing wind,
All, all, but thee, some mercy show.

Ah pity, if you scorn t' approve j

Have pity, if thou hast not love.

SONG XXXVII.

BY MATHEW PRIOR, EStt.

WHILST I am scorch'd with hot desire,
In vain cold friendship you return ;

Your drops of pity on my fire
Alas ! but make it fiercer burn.

Ah ! would you have the flame supprest
That kills the heart it heats too fast ;

Take half my passion to your breast,
The rest in mine shall ever last.

SONG XXXVIII

BY MRS. BEHN.

'Tis not your saying that you love,

Can ease me of my smart :
Your actions must your words approve,

Or else you break my heart.

LOVE-SONGS. 31

In vain you bid my passions cease,

And ease my troubled breast $
Your love alone must give me peace,

Restore my wonted rest.

But if I fail your heart to move,

And 'tis not yours to give ;
I cannot, will not cease to love,

But I will cease to live.

SONG XXXIX.

BY MR. DRYDEN.

Go tell Amynta, gentle swain,
I would not die, nor dare complain :
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy words will more prevail than mine.
For souls oppress 'd, and dumb with grief,
The gods ordain' d this kind relief,
That music should in sounds convey
What dying lovers dare not say.

A sigh or tear perhaps she'll give,
But love on pity cannot live j
Tell her that hearts for hearts were made,
And love with love is only paid,
Tell her my pains so fast increase,
That soon they will be past redress :
For ah ! the wretch, that speechless lies,
Attends but Death to close his eyes.

32 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XL.

BY AARON HILL, ESGl.

GENTLE Love, this hour befriend me,
To my eyes resign thy dart j

Notes of melting music lend me,
To dissolve a frozen heart.

Chill, as mountain snow, her bosom ;

Though I tender language use,
'Tis by cold indifference frozen,

To my arriis, and to my muse.

See ! my dying eyes are pleading,
Where a breaking heart appears ;

For thy pity interceding,
With the eloquence of tears.

While the lamp of life is fading,
And beneath thy coldness dies,

Death my ebbing pulse invading,
Take my soul into thy eyes.

* [The well-known and perhaps most formidable antagonist of
Pope, and a distinguished poet, projector, and dramatic writer:
a copious account of him is given in the ' Biographia Dramatica'.
He died in 1749.]

LOVE-SONGS. 33

SONG XLI.
CONSTANCY.

BY THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

I CANNOT change, as others do,

Though you unjustly scorn :
Since that poor swain who sighs for you,

For you alone was born.
No, Phillis, no, your heart to move

A surer way I'll try :
And to revenge my slighted love,

Will still love on, and die.

When, kill'd with grief, Amyntas lies ;

And you to mind shall call
The sighs that now unpitied rise,

The tears that vainly fall :
That welcome hour that ends this smart,

Will then begin your pain j
For such a faithful tender heart

Can never break in vain.

SONG XLII.

BY MRS. PILKINGTON.

To melancholy thoughts a prey,

With love and grief opprest ;

To peace a stranger all the day,

And all the night to rest
VOL. I. D

34 LOVE-SONGS.

For thee, disdainful fair, I pine,

And wake the tender sigh j
By that obdurate heart of thine,

My balmy blessings fly.

O look to yon celestial sphere,

Where souls in rapture glow -,
And dread to want that mercy there^

Which you refus'd below.

SONG XLIII.

BY THE EARL OF DORSET*.

To all you ladies now at land,

We men at sea indite j
But first would have you understand

How hard it is to write :
The Muses now, and Neptune too,
We must implore to write to you.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.

For though the Muses should prove kind,

And fill our empty brain ;
Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind

To wave the azure main $

* ' Written at sea, in the first Dutch war, 1665, the night before ai*
engagement.'— [Dr. Johnson remarks on this: 'Seldom any splendid

* story is wholly true. I have heard from the late Earl of Orrery,
' who was likely to have good hereditary intelligence, that Lord
' Dorset had been a week employed upon it, and only re-touched or
' finished it on the memorable evening. But even this, whatever it

* may subtract from his facility, leaves him his courage.']

LOVE-SONGS. 35

Our paper, pen, and ink, and we,
Roll up and down our ships at sea.
With a fa, &c.

Then if we write not by each post,

Think not we are unkind ;
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost

By Dutchmen or by wind :
Our tears we'll send a speedier way,
The tide shall bring them twice a day.

With a fa, £c.

The king, with wonder and surprise,

Will swear the seas grow bold j
Because the tides will higher rise,

Than e'er they did of old :
But let him know it is our tears
Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs.

With a fa, &c.

Should foggy Opdam chance to know

Our sad and dismal story $
The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,

And quit their fort at Goree :
For what resistance can they find
From men who've left their hearts behind ?

With a fa, &c.

Let wind and weather do its worst,

Be you to us but kind -,
Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,

No sorrow we shall find :
D 2

36 LOVE-SONGS.

'Tis then no matter how things go,
Or who's our friend, or who's our foe.
With a fa, &c.

To pass our tedious hours away,

We throw a merry main j
Or else at serious ombre play ;

But why should we in vain
Each other's ruin thus pursue >
We were undone when we left you.

With a fa, &c.

But now our fears tempestuous grow,

And cast our hopes away j
Whilst you, regardless of our woe,

Sit careless at a play :
Perhaps permit some happier man
To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan.

With a fa, &c.

When any mournful tune you hear,

That dies in every note ;
As if it sigh'd with each man's care,

For being so remote :
Think then how often love we've made
To you, when all those tunes were play'd.

With a fa, &c.

In justice you cannot refuse,

To think of our distress ;
When we for hopes of honour lose

Our certain happiness j

LOVE-SONGS. 37

All those designs are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your love.

With a fa, &c.

>
And now we've told you all our loves,

And likewise all our fears j
In hopes this declaration moves

Some pity for our tears j
Let's hear of no inconstancy,
We have too much of that at sea.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.

SONG XLIV.

BY LORD LYTTELTON *.

THE heavy hours are almost past
That part my love and me ;

My longing eyes may hope at last,
Their only wish to see.

But how, my Delia, will you meet
The man you've lost so long ?

Will love in all your pulses beat,
And tremble on your tongue ?

Will you in every look declare,
Your heart is still the same -,

And heal each idly-anxious care,
Our fears in absence frame ?

* * Written in the year 1733.'

S8 LOVE-SONGS.

Thus,, Delia, thus I paint the scene.
When shortly we shall meet ;

And try what yet remains between
Of loitering time to cheat.

But if the dream that soothes my mind
Shall false and groundless prove ;

If I am doom'd at length to find
You have forgot to love :

All I of Venus ask, is this 5

No more to let us join :
But grant me here the nattering bliss,

To die, and think you mine.

SONG XLV.

BY WILLIAM WALSH, ESft.

OF all the torments, all the cares,

With which our lives are curst ;
Of all the plagues a lover bears,

Such rivals are the worst !
By partners in each other kind,

Afflictions easier grow j
In love alone we hate to find

Companions of our woe.

Sylvia, for all the pangs you see
Are lab 'ring in my breast ;

I beg not you would favour me,
Would you but slight the rest !
1

LOVE-SONGS. 39

How great soe'er your rigours are,
With them alone I'll cope ;

I can endure my own despair,
But not another's hope.

SONG XLVI.
TO CHLOE JEALOUS.

BY MATTHEW PRIOR, ESQ..

(' The Author Sick:)

YES, fairest proof of beauty's pow'r,
Dear idol of my panting heart,

Nature points this my fatal hour :
And I have liv'd ; and we must part.

While now I take my last adieu,

Heave thou no sigh, nor shed a tear j

Lest yet my half-clos'd eye may view
On earth an object worth its care.

From jealousy's tormenting strife

For ever be thy bosom freed :
That nothing may disturb thy life,

Content I hasten to the dead.

Yet when some better-fated youth

Shall with his am'rous parley move thee -,

Reflect one moment on his truth
Who dying thus, persists to love thee.

40 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XLVII.
LOVE AND JEALOUSY.

BY MR. HENRY CAREY.

THOUGH cruel you seem to my pain,

And hate me because I am true j
Yet Phillis ! you love a false swain,

Who has other nymphs in his view :
Enjoyment's a trifle to him,

To me what a heav'n would it be !
To him but a woman you seem $

But ah, you're an angel to me.

Those lips which he touches in haste,

To them I for ever could grow 3
Still clinging around that dear waist,

Which he spans as beside him you go.
That arm like a lily so white,

Which over his shoulders you lay,
My bosom could warm it all night,

My lips they could press it all day.

Were I like a monarch to reign,

Were graces my subjects to be,
I'd leave them and fly to the plain

To dwell in a cottage with thee.
But if I must feel your disdain,

If tears cannot cruelty drown,
Oh let me not live in this pain ;

But give me my death in a frown !

LOVE-SONGS. 41

SONG XLVIII,

BY WILLIAM WALSH, ESQ..

WHAT fury does disturb my rest ?

What hell is this within my breast ?

Now I abhor, and now I love j

And each an equal torment prove.

I see Celinda's cruelty,

I see she loves all men but me ;

I see her falsehood, see her pride,

I see ten thousand faults beside ;

I see she sticks at nought that's ill -,

Yet, oh ye powers ! I love her still.

Others on precipices run,

Which, blind with love, they cannot shun j

I see my danger, see my ruin,

Yet seek, yet court my own undoing :

And each new reason I explore

To hate her, makes me love her more.

SONG XLIX.
OF JEALOUSY.

BY MR. DRYDEN*.

WHAT state of life can be so blest,
As love that warms a lover's breast ?

* In the tragi-comedy of * Love triumphant.'

42 LOVE-SONGS.

Two souls in one 3 the same desire

To grant the bliss and to require :

But if in heaven a hell we find,

'Tis all from thee,

O jealousy !

'Tis all from thee,

O jealousy !

Thou tyrant, tyrant jealousy,

Thou tyrant of the mind.

All other ills, though sharp they prove,

Serve to refine and perfect love :

In absence, or unkind disdain,

Sweet hope relieves the lover's pain :

But, ah ! no cure but death we find,

To set us free

From jealousy :

O jealousy !

Thou tyrant, tyrant jealousy,

Thou tyrant of the mind.

False in thy glass all objects are,
Some set too near, and some too far :
Thou art the fire of endless night,
The fire that burns, and gives no light,
All torments of the damn'd we find
In only thee,
O jealousy !

Thou tyrant, tyrant jealousy,
Thou tyrant of the mind.

LOVE-SONGS. 43

SONG L.

BY EDMUND WALLER, ES€l.

SAY, lovely dream, where could' st thou find

Shades to counterfeit that face ?
Colours of this glorious kind

Come not from any mortal place.

In heaven itself thou sure wert drest

With that angel-like disguise -,
Thus deluded am I blest,

And see my joy with closed eyes.

But ah ! this image is too kind

To be other than a dream :
Cruel Sacharissa's mind

Never put on that sweet extreme !

Fair dream ! if thou intend' st me grace,
Change that heavenly face of thine 5

Paint despis'd love in thy face,
And make it to appear like mine.

Pale, wan, and meagre let it look,

With a pity-moving shape j
Such as wander by the brook

Of Lethe, or from graves escape.

Then to that matchless nymph appear,

In whose shape thou shinest so ;
Softly, in her sleeping ear,

With humble words express my woe.

44 LOVE-SONGS.

Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride.
Thus surprised she may fall :

Sleep does disproportion hide,,
And death resembling, equals all.

SONG LI.
LOVE FOR LOVE'S SAKE.

BY MR. HENRY CAREY.

I'LL range around the shady bowers
And gather all the sweetest flowers ;
I'll strip the garden and the grove,
To make a garland for my love.

When, in the sultry heat of day,
My thirsty nymph does panting lay ;
I'll hasten to the river's brink,
And drain the floods but she shall drink.

At night, to rest her weary head,

I'll make my love a grassy bed j

And with green boughs I'll form a shade,

That nothing may her rest'invade.

And whilst dissolv'd in sleep she lies,
Myself shall never close these eyes ;
But gazing still with fond delight,
I'll watch my charmer all the night

LOVE-SONGS. 45

And then, as soon as cheerful day
Dispels the darksome shades away j
Forth to the forest I'll repair,
To seek provision for my fair.

Thus will I spend the day and night,
Still mixing labour with delight ;
Regarding nothing I endure,
So I can ease for her procure.

But if the nymph, whom thus I love,
To her fond swain should faithless prove ;
I'll seek some dismal distant shore,
And never think of woman more.

SONG LII.

BY LORD LANSDOWN.

WHY cruel creature, why so bent,

To vex a tender heart ?
To gold and title you relent -y

Love throws in vain his dart.

Let glittering fops in courts be great,

For pay let armies move :
Beauty should have no other bait,

But gentle vows and love.

If on those endless charms you lay
The value that's their due ;

Kings are themselves too poor to pay ;
A thousand worlds too few.

46 LOVE-SONGS.

But if a passion without vice,
Without disguise or art j

Ah Celia ! if true love's your price,
Behold it in my heart.

SONG LIII *.

THE sun was sunk beneath the hill,

The western clouds were lin'd with gold,

The sky was clear, the winds were still,
The flocks were pent within the fold j

When from the silence of the grove,

Poor Damon thus despair 'd of love :

Who seeks to pluck the fragrant rose
From the bare rock or oozy beach ;

Who, from each barren weed that grows,
Expects the grape or blushing peach j

With equal faith may hope to find

The truth of love in womankind.

I have no herds, no fleecy care,

No fields that wave with golden grain >

No pastures green, or gardens fair,
A damsel's venal heart to gain ;

Then all in vain my sighs must prove,

For I, alas ! have nought but love.

* This has appeared under the name of Mr. Gay: but, quaere if
Lis?

LOVE-SONGS. 47

How wretched is the faithful youth,

Since women's hearts are bought and sold j

They ask not vows of sacred truth,

Whene'er they sigh, they sigh for gold :

Gold can the frowns of scorn remove,

But I, alas ! have nought but love.

To buy the gems of India's coast,

What wealth, what treasure can suffice ?

Not all their fire can ever boast
The living lustre of her eyes :

For these the world too cheap would prove -t

But I, alas ! have nought but love.

0 Silvia ! since nor gems, nor ore,

Can with your brighter charms compare ;
Consider what I proffer's more,

More seldom found, a soul sincere :
Let riches meaner beauties move,
Who pays thy worth, must pay in love.

SONG LIV.
THE COMPLAINT.

(To a Scotch Tune,)

BY MR. OTWA.Y.

1 LOVE, I dote, I rave with pain,

No quiet's in my mind $
Though ne'er could be a happier swain
Were Sylvia less unkind.

48 LOVE-SONGS.

For when, as long her chains I've worn,

I ask relief from smart,
She only gives me looks of scorn :

Alas, 'twill break my heart !

My rivals, rich in worldly store,

May offer heaps of gold,
But surely I a heaven adore,

Too precious to be sold j
Can Sylvia such a coxcomb prize

For wealth and not desert,
And my poor sighs and tears despise ?

Alas, 'twill break my heart !

When like some panting, hovering dove,

I for my bliss contend,
And plead the cause of eager love j

She coldly calls me friend.
Ah, Sylvia ! thus in vain you strive

To act a healer's part j
'Twill keep my lingering pain alive,

Alas ! and break my heart.

When on my lonely pensive bed

I lay me down to rest,
In hope to calm my raging head,

And cool my burning breast.
Her cruelty all ease denies,

With some sad dream I start ;
All drown' d in tears I find my eyes,

And breaking feel my heart.

LOVE-SONGS. 49

Then rising, through the path I rove

That leads me where she dwells,,
Where to the senseless waves my love

Its mournful story tells j
With sighs I dew and kiss the door,

'Till morning bids depart !
Then vent ten thousand sighs and more :

Alas, 'twill break my heart !

But, Sylvia, when this conquest's

And I am dead and cold j
Renounce the cruel deed you've done,

Nor glory when 'tis told :
For every lovely generous maid

Will take my injur'd part,
And curse thee, Sylvia, I'm afraid,

For breaking my poor heart.

SONG LV.

BY DR. BYROM*.

MY time, O ye Muses ! was happily spent,
When Phoebe went with me whereever I went :

* The lady the subject of this ballad, was the eldest daughter of
the famous Dr. Richard Bentley, and a university beauty at the time
when the author was at college. She was married to Dr. Richard
Cumberland, late bishop of Kilmore, and died a few years ago. —
Hawkins' Hist. Mus. V. 98 ; where see other music to it by Dr.
Croft. [Mr. Noble, in his continuation of Granger's Biographical
History, and Mr. Cumberland, in the Memoirs of himself, have both
informed us that Joanna, the younger of Dr. Bentley's two daugh-
ters, was the Phoebe of Dr. Byrom: who ranked as M.A. and
F.R. S. but had no title to be styled Dr.]
VOL. I. E

50 LOVE-SONGS.

Ten thousand soft pleasures I felt in my breast ;
Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest 1
But now she is gone, and has left me behind,
What a marvellous change on a sudden I find !
When things were as fine as could possibly be,
I thought 'twas the spring; but, alas ! it was she.

With such a companion to tend a few sheep,

To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep j

I was so good-humour 'd, so cheerful, and gay,

My heart was as light as a feather all day :

But now I so cross, and so peevish am grown.

So strangely uneasy as never was known $

My fair-one is gone, and my joys are all drown' d,

And my heart— I am sure it weighs more than a pound.

The fountain that wont to run sweetly along,

And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among,

Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there,

'Twas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to hear :

But now she is absent, I walk by its side,

And still, as it murmurs, do nothing but chide j

' Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain ?

' Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain.'

When my lambkins around me would oftentimes play,
And when Phoebe and I were as joyful as they $
How pleasant their sporting, how happy the time,
When spring, love, and beauty, were all in their prime !
But now in their frolics, when by me they pass,
I fling at their fleeces an handful of grass ;
' Be still then, I cry, for it makes me quite mao^
' To see you so merry, while I am so sad.'

LOVE-SONGS. 51

My dog I was ever well pleased to see
Come wagging his tail to my fair-one and me -,
And Phrebe was pleas' d too, and to my dog said,
' Come hither, poor fellow $' and patted his head :
But now, when he's fawning, I, with a sour look,
Cry, f sirrah ; ' and give him a blow with my crook :
And I'll give him another ; for why should not Tray
Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe's away.

When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I seen !
How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green !
What a lovely appearance the trees and the shade,
The corn-fields and hedges, and ev'ry thing made !
But since she has left me, though all are still there,
They none Of them now so delightful appear :
'Twas naught but the magic, I find, of her eyes
Made so many beautiful prospects arise.

Sweet music went with us both, all the wood through,
The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too ;
Winds over us whisper 'd, flocks by us did bleat,
And chirp went the grasshopper under our feet :
But now she is absent, though still they sing on,
The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone :
Her voice in the concert, as now I have found,
Gave every thing else its agreeable sound.

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue ?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue ?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile ?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile ?
Ah, rivals ! I see what it was that you drest,
And made yourselves fine for ; — a place in her breast :
E<2

52 LOVE-SONGS.

You put on your colours to pleasure her eye,
To be pluck' d by her hand, on her bosom to die.

How slowly tune creeps, till my Phoebe return !
While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn -,
Methinks, if I knew whereabout he would tread,
I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down the

lead.

Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear,
And rest so much longer for't, when she is here.
Ah, Colin ! old Tune is full of delay,
Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst say.

Will no pitying power that hears me complain,
Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain ?
To be cur'd, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove ;
But what swain is so silly to live without love ?
No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return,
For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn.
Ah ! what shall I do ? I shall die with despair !
Take heed, all ye swains, how ye love one so fair.*

SONG LVI.
AH WILLOW.

BY NICHOLAS ROWE, ESa.

To ' His Lady' in her Sickness.

l"o the brook and the willow that heard him complain,

Ah willow, willow !
Poor Colin sat weeping, and told them his pain ;

Ah willow, willow 5 ah willow, willow !

* [In Byrom's poems this line runs— ' how ye part with your fair.']

LOVE-SONGS. 53

r Sweet stream, he cried sadly, I'll teach thee to flow,

Ah willow, &c.
And the waters shall rise to the brink with my woe :

Ah willow, &c.

All restless and painful poor Amoret lies,

Ah willow, &c.
And counts the sad moments of time as it flies :

Ah willow, &c.

To the nymph, my heart loves, ye soft slumbers repair 5

Ah willow, &c.
Spread your downy wings o'er her, and make her your care.

Ah willow, &c.

Dear brook, were thy chance near her pillow to creep,

Ah willow, &c.
Perhaps thy soft murmurs might lull her to sleep.

Ah willow, &c.

JLet me be kept waking, my eyes never close,

Ah willow, &c.
So the sleep that I lose brings my fair-one repose.

Ah willow, &c.

But if I am doom'd to be wretched indeed ;

Ah willow, &c.
And the loss of my dear-one, my love, is decreed $

Ah willow, &c.

If no more my sad heart by those eyes shall be cheer 'd 5

Ah willow, &c.
If the voice of my warbler no more shall be heard ;

Ah willow, &c.

.

54 LOVE-SONGS.

Believe me, thou fair-one 5 thou dear-one, believe,

Ah willow, &c.
Few sighs to thy loss, and few tears will I give.

Ah willow, &c.

One fate to thy Colin and thee shall betide,

Ah willow, &c.
And soon lay thy shepherd down by thy cold side.

Ah willow, &c.

Then glide, gentle brook, and to lose thyself haste ;

Ah willow, willow !
Fade thou too my willow j this verse is my last :

Ah willow, willow; ah willow, willow ! '

SONG LVII.

BY DR. DALTON*.
RECITATIVE.

How gentle was my Damon's air I
Like sunny beams his golden hair,
His voice was like the nightingale's,
More sweet his breath than flowery vales.
How hard such beauties to resign !
And yet that cruel task is mine.

* [Introduced in the matchless masque of ' Comus' j with several
other elegant and appropriate songs, selected from passages in th«
poems of Milton, or composed by the Doctor himself.]

LOVE-SONGS. 55

AIH.

On every hill, in every grove,

Along the margin of each stream,

Dear conscious scenes of former love,
I mourn, and Damon is my theme.

The hills, the groves, the streams remain,

But Damon there I seek in vain.

Now to the mossy cave I fly,

Where to my swain I oft have sung,

Well pleas' d the browsing goats to spy,
As o'er the airy steep they hung*

The mossy cave, the goats remain,

But Damon there I seek in vain.

Now through the Winding vale I pass,
And sigh to see the well known shade ;

I weep and kiss the bended grass,

Where Love and Damon fondly play'd.

The vale, the shade, the grass remain,

But Damon there I seek in vain.

From hill, from dale, each charm is fled,
Groves, flocks, and fountains please no more,

Each flower in pity droops its head,
All nature does my loss deplore.

All, all reproach the faithless swain,

Yet Damon still I seek in vain.

56 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG LVIII.
A PASTORAL, IN FOUR PARTS.

BY WILLIAM SHENSTONE, ESQ..

Arbusta kumilesque myrica:. VIRG.

I. — ABSENCE.

YE shepherds so cheerful and gay,

Whose flocks never carelessly roam j
Should Cory don's happen to stray,

Oh ! call the poor wanderers home.
Allow me to muse and to sigh,

Nor talk of the change that ye find ;
None once was so watchful as I :

—I have left my dear Phyllis behind.

Now I know what it is to have strove

With the torture of doubt and desire j
What it is, to admire and to love,

And to leave her we love and admire.
Ah, lead forth my flock in the morn,

And the damps of each evening repel ;
Alas ! I am faint and forlorn :

—I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell.

Since Phyllis vouchsaf 'd me a look,
I never once dreamt of my vine j

May I lose both my pipe and my crook,
If I knew of a kid that was mine.

LOVE-SONGS. 57

I priz'd every hour that went by,

Beyond all that had pleas' d me before :

But now they are past, and I sigh j

And I grieve that I priz'd them no more,

But why do I languish in vain ?

Why wander thus pensively here ?
Oh ! why did I come from the plain,

Where I fed on the smiles of my dear ?
They tell me, my favourite maid,

The pride of that valley, is flown j
Alas ! where with her I have stray'd,

I could wander with pleasure, alone.

WTien forc'd the fair nymph to forego,

What anguish I felt at my heart !
Yet I thought — but it might not be so—-

'Twas with pain that she saw me depart.
She gaz'd, as I slowly withdrew j

My path I could hardly discern j
So sweetly she bade me adieu,

I thought that she bade me return.

The pilgrim that journeys all day,

To visit some far distant shrine,
If he bear but a relique away,

Is happy, nor heard to repine :
Thus widely remov'd from the fair,

Where my vows, my devotion, I owe -,
Soft hope is the relique I bear,

And my solace wherever I go.

5bl LOVtf-SONGS.

II.— HOPE.

My banks they are furnish' d with bees,

Whose murmur invites one to sleep ;
My grottos are shaded with trees,

And my hills are white -over with sheep,
I seldom have met with a loss,

Such health do my fountains bestow ;
My fountains all border 'd with moss,

Where the hare -bells and violets grow.

Not a pine in my grove is there seen,

But with tendrils of woodbine is bound :
Not a beech's more beautiful green,

But a sweet-briar entwines it around.
Not my fields in the prime of the year,

More charms than my cattle unfold -3
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,

But it glitters with fishes of gold.

One would think she might like to retire

To the bower I have labour 'd to rear ,:
Not a shrub that I heard her admire,

But I hasted and planted it there.
Oh, how sudden the jessamine strove

With the lilac to render it gay !
Already it calls for my love,

To prune the wild branches away.

From the plains, from the woodlands and groves,
What strains of wild melody flow !

LOVE-SONGS. 59

How the nightingales warble their loves

From thickets of roses that blow !
And when her bright form shall appear,

Each bird shall harmoniously join
In a concert so soft and so clear,

As she may not be fond to resign.

I have found out a gift for my fair 5

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed :
But let me that plunder forbear,

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, she aver'd,

Who could rob a poor bird of its young :
And I lov'd her the more, when I heard

Such tenderness fall from her tongue.

I have heard her with sweetness unfold

How that pity was due to— a dove j
That it ever attended the bold,

And she call'd it the sister of love.
But her words such a pleasure convey,

So much I her accents adore ;
Let her speak, and whatever she say,

Methinks I should love her the more.

Can a bosom so gentle remain

Unmov'd, when her Corydon sighs >
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,

These plains and this valley despise ?
Dear regions of silence and shade !

Soft scenes of contentment and ease !
Where I could have pleasingly stray 'd,

If aught, in her absence, could please.

60 LOVE-SONGS.

But where does my Phyllida stray ?

And where are her grots and her bow'rs ?
Are the groves and the vallies as gay,

And the shepherds as gentle as ours ?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,

And the face of the vallies as fine,
The swains may in manners compare,

— But their love is not equal to mine.

III. — SOLICITUDE.

Why will you my passion reprove ?

Why term it a folly to grieve ?
Ere I show you the charms of my love,

She is fairer than you can believe.
With her mien she enamours the brave j

With her wit she engages the free ;
With her modesty pleases the grave j

She is ev'ry way pleasing to me.

0 you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays ;

1 could lay down my life for the swain,
That will sing but a song in her praise.

When he sings, may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and listen the while ;

Nay 6n him let not Phyllida frown j
— But I cannot allow her to smile.

For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favour with Phyllis to find ;

LOVE-SONGS. 61

O how, with one trivial glance,

Might she ruin the peace of my mind !

In ringlets he dresses his hair,

And his crook is be-studded around ;

And his pipe — oh, may Phyllis beware
Of a magic there is in the sound !

'Tis his with mock passion to glow ;

'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold,
' How her face is as bright as the snow,

And her bosom, be sure, is as cold !
How the nightingales labour the strain,

With the notes of his charmer to vie ;
How they vary their accents in vain,

Repine at her triumphs, and die.'

To the grove or the garden he strays,

And pillages every sweet j
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays,

He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
e O Phyllis, he whispers, more fair,

More sweet than the jessamine's flow'r !
What are pinks, in a morn, to compare ?

What is eglantine, after a show'r ?

Then the lily no longer is white j

Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom 5
Then the violets die with despight j

And the woodbines give up their perfume."
Thus glide the soft numbers along,

And he fancies no shepherd his peer :
— Yet I never should envy the song,

Were not Phyllis to lend it an earv

62 LOVE-SONGS.

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,

So Phyllis the trophy despise ;
Let his forehead with laurels be crown' d,

So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart

Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue j
— Yet may she beware of his art,

Or sure I must envy the song.

IV. — DISAPPOINTMENT.

Ye shepherds, give ear to my lay,

And take no more heed of my sheep :
They have nothing to do, but to stray ;

I have nothing to do but to weep.
Yet do not my folly reprove :

She was fair — and my passion begun ;
She smil'd — and I could not but love j

She is faithless — and I am undone.

Perhaps I was void of all thought j

Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
That a nymph so complete would be sought

By a swain more engaging than me.
Ah ! love ev'ry hope can inspire ;

It banishes wisdom the while ;
And the lip of the nymph we admire

Seems for ever adorn' d with a smile.

She is faithless, and I am undone $
Ye that witness the woes I endure j

Let reason instruct you to shun

What it cannot instruct you to cure.

1

LOVE-SONGS. <5S

Beware how ye loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of a higher degree :
It is not for me to explain

How fair and how fickle they be.

Alas ! from the day that we met,

What hope of an end to my woes ?
When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repose.
Yet time may diminish the pain :

The flower, and the shrub, and the tree,
Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,

In time may have comfort for me.

The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,

The sound of a murmuring stream,
The peace which from solitude flows,

Henceforth shall be Cory don's theme.
High transports are shown to the sight,

But we are not to find them our own j
Fate never bestow' d such delight,

As I with my Phyllis had known.

0 ye woods, spread your branches apace ;
To your deepest recesses I fly ;

1 would hide with the beasts of the chase -,

I would vanish from every eye.
Yet my reed shall resound through the grove

With the same sad complaint it begun ;
How she smil'd, and I could not but love j

Was faithless, and I am undone !

64 LOVE-SONGS

SONG LIX.
COLIN'S COMPLAINT.

BY NICHOLAS HOWE, ESft.*

To the Tune of < Grim King of the Ghosts'.

DESPAIRING beside a clear stream,

A shepherd forsaken was laid j
And while a false nymph was his theme,

A willow supported his head :
The wind that blew over the plain,

To his sighs with a sigh did reply j
And the brook, in return to his pain,

Ran mournfully murmuring by.

' Alas, silly swain that I was !

(Thus sadly complaining he cried, )
When first I beheld that fair face,

'Twere better by far I had died.
She talk'd, and I bless 'd the dear tongue 5

When she smil'd, 'twas a pleasure too great :
I listen' d, and cried, when she sung,

Was nightingale ever so sweet !

How foolish was I to believe

She could dote on so lowly a clown ;

Or that her fond heart would not grieve
To forsake the fine folk of the town ?

* The author, in this beautiful and pathetic ballad, alludes to his
own situation with the Countess dowager of Warwick, and to his
successful rival Mr. Addison. [Dr. Johnson's report is, that this
ballad was said to have been written, either before or after marriage,
wpon this memorable pair.]

LOVE-SONGS. 65

To think that a beauty so gay,

So kind and so constant would prove ;

Or go clad like our maidens in grey,
Or live in a cottage on love ?

What though I have skill to complain,

Though the muses my temples have crown' d ;
What though when they hear my soft strain,

The virgins sit weeping around :
Ah Colin ! thy hopes are in vain,

Thy pipe and thy laurel resign j
Thy false-one inclines to a swain,

Whose music is sweeter than thine.

And you, my companions so dear,

Who sorrow to see me betray 'd j
Whatever I suffer, forbear,

Forbear to accuse the false maid.
Though through the wide world I should range,

'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly :
'Twas hers to be false and to change,

'Tis mine to be constant and die.

If while my hard fate I sustain,

In her breast any pity is found,
Let her come with the nymphs of the plain,,

And see me laid low in the ground.
The last humble boon that I crave,

Is to shade me with cypress and yew ;
And when she looks down on my grave,

Let her own that her shepherd was true.
VOL. I. F

66 LOVE-SONGS.

Then to her new love let her go,

And deck her in golden arrajr ;
Be finest at every fine show,

And frolic it all the long day :
While Colin, forgotten and gone,

No more shall be talk'd of, or seen -T
Unless when, beneath the pale moon,

His ghost shall glide over the green.

SONG LX.

BY MR. OTWAY *.

COME all ye youths whose hearts e'er bled

By cruel beauty's pride,
Bring each a garland on his head,

Let none his sorrows hide j
But hand in hand around me move,
Singing the saddest tales of love ;
And see, when your complaints ye join,
If all your wrongs can equal mine.

The happiest mortal once was I,

My heart no sorrow knew ;
Pity the pain with which I die,

But ask not whence it grew ;
Yet if a tempting fair you find,
That's very lovely, very kind,
Though bright as heav'n whose stamp she bears,
Think on my fate, and shun her snares. O.

* In the tragedy of l The Orphan.'

LOVE-SONGS. 67

SONG LXI.
THE LUNATIC LOVER.

'GRIM king of the ghosts, make haste

And bring hither all your train :
See how the pale moon does waste,

And just now is in the wane,
€ome, you night-hags with aU your charms>

And revelling witches away,
And hug me close in your arms ;

To you my respects I'll pay.

I'll court you, and think you fair,

Since love does distract my brain 5
I'll go, and I'll wed the night-mare,

And kiss her, and kiss her again :
But if she prove peevish and proud,

Then a pize on her love, let her go -f
I'll seek me a winding shroud,

And down to the shades below.

A lunacy sad I endure

Since reason departs away ;
I call to those hags for a cure,

As knowing not what I say.
The beauty whom I do adore,

Now slights me with scorn and disdain -f
I never shall see her more,

Ah ! how shall I bear my pain ?
F 2

68 LOVE-SONGS.

I ramble and range about

To find out my charming saint ;
Whilst she at my grief does flout,

And laughs at my loud complaint.
Distraction I see is my doom,

Of this I am now too sure ;
A rival has got in my room,

While torments I do endure.

Strange fancies do fill my head,

While wandering in despair,
1 am to the desart led,

Expecting to find her there.
'Methinks in a spangled cloud

I see her enthron'd on high j
Then to her I cry aloud,

And labour to reach the sky.

When thus I have raved a while,

And wearied myself in vain,
I lie on the barren soil,

And bitterly do complain :
Till slumber hath quieted me,

In sorrow 1 sigh and weep ;
The clouds are my canopy,

To cover me while 1 sleep,

I dream that my charming fair
Is then in my rival's bed,

Whose tresses of golden hair
Are on the fair pillow bespread.

LOVE-SONGS. 69

Then this doth my passion inflame j

I start, and no longer can lie j
f Ah ! Sylvia., art thou not to blame

To ruin a lover?' I cry.

Grim king of the ghosts, be true,

And hurry me hence away j
My languishing life to you

A tribute I freely pay :
To th' Elysian shades I post,

In hopes to be freed from care,
Where many a bleeding ghost

Is hovering in the air. O,

SONG LXII.

BY SIR CAR SCROOPE *.

ONE night when all the village slept,

Myrtillo's sad despair
The wretched shepherd waking kept,

To tell the woods his care ;
' Begone (said he) fond thought begone !

Eyes, give your sorrows o'er !
Why should you waste your tears for one,

Who thinks on you no more ?

Yet, oh ! ye birds, ye flocks, ye pow'rs,

That dwell within this grove,
Can tell how many tender hours

We here have pass'd in love !

* lu Lee's tragedy of ' Mithridates King of Pontus.*

70 LOVE-SONGS.

Yon stars above (my cruel foes ! )
Have heard how she has sworn

A thousand times, that like to those,
Her flame should ever burn !

But since she's lost — oh ! let me have

My wish, and quickly die ;
In this cold bank I'll make a grave,

And there for ever lie :
Sad nightingales the watch shall keep,

And kindly here complain. —
Then down the shepherd lay to sleep,

But never rose again.

SONG LXIII.
A PASTORAL ELEGY.

AH ! Damon, dear shepherd, adieu !

By love and first nature allied,
Together in fondness we grew -t

Ah, would we together had died !
For thy faith, which resembled my own ;

For thy soul, which was spotless and true :
For the joys we together have known,

Ah, Damon, dear shepherd, adieu !

What bliss can hereafter be mine ?

Whomever engaging I see,
To hi3 friendship I ne'er can incline,

For fear I should mourn him like thee.

LOVE-SONGS. 71

Though the muses should crown me with art,
Though honour and fortune should join j

Since thou art denied to my heart,
What bliss can hereafter be mine ?

Ah, Damon, dear shepherd, farewell !

Thy grave with sad osiers I'll bind -,
Though no more in one cottage we dwell,

I can keep thee for ever in mind :
Each morning I'll visit alone

His ashes who lov'd me so well j
And murmur each eve o'er his stone,

' Ah, Damon, dear shepherd, farewell !'

SONG LXIV.

BY MR. EDWARD MOORE.

HARK ! hark ! 'tis a voice from the tomb !

' Come, Lucy, it cries, come away !
The grave of thy Colin has room,

To rest thee beside his cold clay.'
' I come, my dear shepherd, I come -,

Ye friends and companions, adieu ;
I haste to my Colin's dark home,

To die on his bosom so true.'

All mournful the midnight bell rung,

When Lucy, sad Lucy arose j
And forth to the green- turf she sprung,

Where Colin's pale ashes repose.

LOVE-SONGS,

All wet with the night's chilling dew,
Her bosom embrac'd the cold ground,

While stormy winds over her blew,
And night-ravens croak' d all around.

c How long, my lov'd Colin, (she cried)

How long must thy Lucy complain ?
How long shall the grave my love hide ?

How long ere it join us again ?
For thee thy fond shepherdess liv'd,

With thee o'er the world would she fly j
For thee has she sorrow' d and griev'd,

For thee would she lie down and die.

' Alas ! what avails it how dear

Thy Lucy was once to her swain !
Her face like the lily so fair,

And eyes that gave light to the plain !
The shepherd that lov'd her is gone,

That face and those eyes charm no more
And Lucy forgot and alone,

To death shall her Colin deplore.'

While thus she lay sunk in despair,

And mourn' d to the echoes around j
Inflam'd all at once grew the air,

And thunder shook dreadful the ground.
I hear the kind call, and obey ;

' Oh, Colin, receive me,' she cried !
Then breathing a groan o'er his clay,

She hung on his tomb-stone and died.

LOVE-SONGS. 73

SONG LXV.

BY MR. GAY *.

'TwAs when the seas were roaring

With hollow blasts of wind 5
A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin'd.
Wide o'er the foaming billows

She cast a wistful look ;
Her head was crown' d with willows

That trembled o'er the brook.

Twelve months are gone and over,

And nine long tedious days :
' Why didst thou, vent'rous lover,

Why didst thou trust the seas ?
Cease, cease thou cruel ocean,

And let my lover rest :
Ah ! what's thy troubled motion

To that within my breast ?

e The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,

Views tempests in despair ;
But what's the loss of treasure

To losing of my dear ?
Should you some coast be laid on,

Where gold and di'monds grow,
You'd find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

* In his tragi-comi-pastoral farce of « The What D'ye call it.'

74 LOVE-SONGS.

e How can they say that nature

Has nothing made in vain 5
Why then beneath the water

Do hideous rocks remain ?
No eyes these rocks discover,

That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wand'ring lover,

And leave the maid to weep.'

All melancholy lying,

Thus wail'd she for her dear 3
Repaid each blast with sighing,
. Each billow with a tear :
When o'er the white wave stooping,

His floating corpse she spied,
Then like a lily drooping,

She bow'd her head, and died.

SONG LXVI.
THE DESPAIRING SHEPHERD.

BY MATTHEW PRIOR, EStt.

ALEXIS shun'd his fellow swains,
Their rural sports, and jocund strains :

(Heav'n guard us all from Cupid's bow!)
He lost his crook, he left his flocks ;
And wand'ring through the lonely rocks,

He nourish' d endless woe.

LOVE-SONGS. 75

The nymphs and shepherds round him came :
His grief some pity, others blame ;

The fatal cause all kindly seek :
He mingled his concern with theirs j
He gave 'em back their friendly tears,

He sigh'd, but would not speak.

Clorinda came among the rest ;
And she too, kind concern express'd,

And ask'd the reason of his woe :
She ask'd -, but with an air and mien,
That made it easily foreseen,

She fear'd too much to know.

The shepherd rais'd his mournful head j
' And will you pardon me, he said,

While I the cruel truth reveal ?
Which nothing from my breast should tear :
Which never should offend your ear,

But that you bid me tell.

'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain,
Since you appear 'd upon the plain;

You are the cause of all my care :
Your eyes ten thousand dangers dart ;
Ten thousand torments vex my heart ;

I love, and I despair.'

' Too much, Alexis, I have heard :
'Tis what I thought j 'tis what I fear'd :

And yet I pardon you, she cried :
But you shall promise ne'er again
To breathe your vows, or speak your pain :—

He bow'd, obey'd, and died.

76 LOVE-SONGS

SONG LXVIL*

HARD by the hall, our master's house,
Where Mersey flows to meet the main $

Where woods, and winds, and waves dispose
A lover to complain.

With arms across j along the strand,
Poor Lycon walk'd, and hung his head j

Viewing the footsteps in the sand,
Which a bright nymph had made.

' The tide, says he, will soon erase
The marks so lightly here imprest j

But time or tide will ne'er deface
Her image in my breast.

Am I some savage beast of prey ?

Am I some horrid monster grown ?
That thus she flies so swift away,

Or meets me with a frown.

That bosom soft, that lily skin

(Trust not the fairest outside show)

Contains a marble heart within,
A rock hid under snow.

* This ballad does not appear to have been known before its
communication to Lord Oxford by Mr. Prior, who tells his Lordship
he found it in a cottage in Lancashire. It may, therefore, not im-
probably, be the composition of that excellent poet, of whose pen it
is by no means unworthy.

LOVE-SONGS. 7?

Ah me ! the flints and pebbles wound
Her tender feet, from whence there fell

Those crimson drops which stain the ground,
And beautify each shell.

Ah ! fair-one, moderate thy flight,

I will no more in vain pursue :
But take my leave for a long night j

Adieu, lov'd maid, adieu !'

With that, he took a running leap,

He took a lover's leap indeed,
And plung'd into the sounding deep

Where hungry fishes feed.

The melancholy hern stalks by,
Around the squalling sea-gulls yell,

Aloft the croaking ravens fly,
And toll his funeral bell.

The waters roll above his head,

The billows toss it o'er and o'er ;
His ivory bones lie scattered,

And whiten all the shore.

SONG LXVIII
COLIN AND LUCY.

BY THOMAS TICKELL, ESQ..

OF Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace j

Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so sweet a face :

78 LOVE-SONGS.

Till luckless love, and pining care,

Impair 'd her rosy hue,
Her dainty lip, her damask cheek,

And eyes of glossy blue.

Ah ! have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend ?

So droop 'd this slow- consuming maid,
Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn'd, of nattering swains

Take heed, ye easy fair :
Of vengeance due to broken vows,

Ye flattering swains beware.

*Three times all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring j

And at her window, shrieking thrice,
The raven flapp'd his wing :

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
The solemn-boding sound :

And thus, in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round :

' I hear a voice, you cannot hear,
f That cries I must not stay j

f I see a hand, you cannot see,
( That beckons me away.

' Of a false swain and broken heart,

f In early youth I die :
f Am I to blame, because the bride

f Is twice as rich as I ?

LOVE-SONGS. 79

c Ah Colin ! give not her thy vows,

' Vows due to me alone !
e Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,

' Nor think him all thy own.

f To-morrow in the church to wed,

' Impatient both prepare :
' But know, false man ! and know, fond maid !

' Poor Lucy will be there.

' Then bear my corse, ye comrades dear,

' The bridegroom blithe to meet j
f He in his wedding trim so gay,

( I in my winding-sheet.'

She spoke, she died : her corse was borne

The bridegroom blithe to meet j
He in his wedding trim so gay,

She in her winding-sheet.

What then were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?

How were these nuptials kept ? —
The bridesmen flock' d round Lucy dead,

And all the village wept.

Compassion, shame, remorse, despair,

At once his bosom swell :
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,

He shook, he groan' d, he fell.

From the vain bride (ah bride no more ! )

The varying crimson fled,
When stretch' d beside her rival's corse,

She saw her lover dead.

80 LOVE-SONGS.

He to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey 'd by trembling swains,

In the same mould, beneath one sod,
For ever now remains.

Oft at this place the constant hind,
And plighted maid are seen j

With garlands gay, and true-love knots,
They deck the sacred green.

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow' d ground forbear j

Remember Colin' s dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.

SONG LXIX.
JEMMY DAWSON *.

BY WILLIAM SHENSTONE, EStt.

COME listen to my mournful tale,
Ye tender hearts and lovers dear $

Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh,
Nor will you blush to shed a tear.

* Captain James Dawson, the amiable and unfortunate subject of
these beautiful stanzas, was one of the eight officers, belonging to
the Manchester regiment of volunteers, in the service of the young
chevalier, who were hanged, drawn, and quartered, on Kennington
common, in 1746. And this ballad, written about the time, is found-
ed on a remarkable circumstance which actually happened at his
execution. Just before his death he wrote a song on his own mis-
fortunes, which is supposed to be still extant, though the editor, after
much inquiry, has never had the happiness to meet with it.

LOVE-SONGS. 81

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid,

Do them a pensive ear incline ;
For thou canst weep at every woe,

And pity every plaint, but mine.

Young Dawson was a gallant youth,

A brighter never trod the plain ;
And well he lov'd one charming maid,

And dearly was he lov'd again.

One tender maid she lov'd him dear,
Of gentle blood the damsel came j

And faultless was her beauteous form,
And spotless was her virgin fame.

But curse on party's hateful strife,
That led the favour 'd youth astray j

The day the rebel clans appear'd,
O had he never seen that day !

Their colours, and their sash he wore,

And in the fatal dress was found -,
And now he must that death endure,

Which gives the brave the keenest wound.

How pale was then his true-love's cheek,
When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear !

For never yet did Alpine snows
So pale, or yet so chill appear.

With fault' ring voice she weeping said,
*" Oh Dawson ! monarch of my heart -,

' Think not thy death shall end our loves,

' For thou and I will never part.
VOL. I. G

82 LOVE-SONGS.

f Yet might sweet mercy find a place,
( And bring relief to Jemmy's woes,

f O George ! without a prayer for thee
' My orisons should never close.

' The gracious prince that gave him life
' Would crown a never-dying flame ;

( And every tender babe I bore

' Should learn to lisp the giver's name.

' But though, dear youth, thou should 'st be drag'd

' To yonder ignominious tree j
* Thou shalt not want a faithful friend

' To share thy bitter fate with thee/

O then her mourning coach was call'd,
The sledge mov'd slowly on before ;

Though borne in a triumphal car,
She had not lov'd her favourite more.

She follow 'd him, prepar'd to view

The terrible behests of law ;
And the last scene of Jemmy's woes

With calm and stedfast eye she saw.

Distorted was that blooming face,
Which she had fondly lov'd so long :

And stifled was that tuneful breath,
Which in her praise had sweetly sung r

And sever' d was that beauteous neck,

Round which her arms had fondly clos'd :
And mangled was that beauteous breast,
On which her love-sick head repos'd :

LOVE-SONGS. 83

And ravish' d was that constant heart,

She did to every heart prefer j
For though it could its king forget,

'Twas true and loyal still to her.

Amid those unrelenting flames

She bore this constant heart to see j
But when 'twas moulder 'd into dust,

' Now, now, (she cried) I follow thee !

' My death, my death alone can show

' The pure and lasting love I bore :
' Accept, O Heav'n ! of woes like ours,

' And let us, let us weep no more.'

The dismal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearse retir'd:

The maid drew back her languid head,
And sighing forth his name, expir'd.

Though justice ever must prevail,

The tear my Kitty sheds is due :
For seldom shall she hear a tale

So sad, so tender, and so true.

SONG LXX.

BY MR. CONGREVE *'.

AH ! stay j ah ! turn; ah! whither would you fly?

Too charming, too relentless maid !
I follow not to conquer, but to die ;

You of the fearful are afraid.

* In the tragedy of ' The Fair Penitent.'
G 2

84 LOVE-SONGS.

In vain I call j for she, like fleeting air,
When press' d by some tempestuous wind,

Flies swifter from the voice of my despair,
Nor casts one pitying look behind.

SONG LXXI.
THE INEXORABLE.

BY MR. HENRY CAREY.*

SHE, whom above myself I prize,
Does me above all men despise ;
My faithful passion is so great,
Nothing exceeds it but her hate.

Must I, ye gods, for ever love ?
Must she for ever cruel prove ?
Must all my torments, all my grief,
Meet no compassion, no relief ?

Charmer ! my final sentence give -,
Let me not in this anguish live :
But sweetly smile, and ease my pain,
Or frown, and kill me with disdain.

* [Sir John Hawkins places Carey, as a poet, in the last of that
class of which D'Urfey was the first ; with this difference, that in all
the songs written by him on wine, love, and such kind of subjects, he
seems to have manifested an inviolable regard for decency and good
manners.]

LOVE-SONGS. 85

SONG LXXII.
LOVE RELAPSED.

IF all that I love is her face,

From looking I sure can refrain ;
In others her likeness may trace,

Or absence may cure all my pain :
This said, from her charms I retir'd,

Nor knew I till then how I lov'd j
What present my passion admir'd,

In absence my reason approv'd.

Ah ! why should I hope for relief,

Where all that I see is disdain ?
No pity in her for my grief,

No merit in me to complain.
Nor yet do I fortune upbraid,

Though robb'd of my freedom and ease ;
Still proud of the choice I have made,

Though hopeless it ever can please.

SONG LXXIII.*

BY R. B. SHERIDAN, ESQ.

>

THINK not, my love, when secret grief

Preys on my sadden' d heart,
Think not I wish a mean relief,

Or would from sorrow part.

* The tender sweetness of these beautiful stanzas, which are among
the Six Ballads composed and published by Mr. Linley, will suffi-
ciently indicate the elegant pen of the author of * The School for
Scandal.'

86 LOVE-SONGS.

Dearly I prize the sighs sincere,
That my true fondness prove ;

Nor could I bear to check the tear
That flows from hapless love.

Alas ! though doom'd to hope in vain

The joys that love requite,
Yet will I cherish all its pain,

With sad but dear delight.
This treasur'd grief, this lov'd despair

My lot for ever be j
But, dearest, may the pangs I bear

Be never known to thee.

SONG LXXIV.*

SEND back my long stray 'd eyes to me,
Which oh ! too long have dwelt on thee :
But if from you they've learn' d such ill,

To sweetly smile,

And then beguile,
Keep the deceivers, keep them still.

Send home my harmless heart again,
Which no unworthy thought could stain :
But if it has been taught by thine,

To forfeit both

Its word and oath,
Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine.

* A very judicious alteration, and real improvement, of * The
Message,' by Dr. Donne.

LOVE-SONGS. 8?

Yet send me back my heart and eyes,

For I'll know all thy falsities ;

That I one day may laugh, when thou

Shalt grieve and mourn,

For one will scorn
And prove as false as thou art now.

SONG LXXV.

BY R. B. SHERIDAN, ESQ.*

AH ! cruel maid, how hast thou chang'd

The temper of my mind :
My heart by thee from mirth estrang'd,

Becomes like thee unkind.

By fortune favour 'd, clear in fame,

I once ambitious was j
And friends I had that fann'd the flame,

And gave my youth applause.

But now my weakness all abuse,
Yet vain their taunts on me ;

Friends, fortune, fame itself, I'd lose
To gain one smile from thee.

Yet only thou should' st not despise

My folly or my woe ;
If I am mad in others eyes,

'Tis thou hast made me so !

* In the comic opera of * The Duenna."

88 LOVE-SONGS.

But days like these, with doubting curs' d.,

I will not long endure :
Am I despis'd — I know the worst.

And also know my cure.

If, false, her vows she dare renounce,

She instant ends my pain :
For, oh ! that heart must break at once

Which cannot hate again.

SONG LXXVI.
THE DESPONDING SHEPHERD.

BY MRS. PILKINGTON.*

To melancholy thoughts a prey,

With love and grief oppress' d ;
To peace a stranger all the day,

And all the night to rest :
For thee, disdainful fair, I pine

And wake the tender sigh ;
By that obdurate heart of thine,

My balmy blessings fly.

* The eight first, and four last lines of this song, appear in the
above lady's memoirs as they are printed at p. 33. and the present
copy did not occur time enough to supply the deficiency. The com-
piler had no hesitation in prefixing Mrs. Pilkington's nams to this copy;
as it is probable, either that her memory deceived her, or that some
other mistake happened, at the time of printing her memoirs : the
whole being evidently the composition of one and the same person,
and possessing too much merit not to have been claimed by a dif-
ferent author.

LOVE-SONGS. 89

The stubborn rocks, than thee less hard,

Will kind compassion show -,
E'en they my loud complaints regard,

And echo back my woe :
While you, averse to all my care,

Unpitying hear me grieve ;
And add new pangs to my despair,

Nor with a smile relieve.

O think how soon that heav'nly bloom,

By which you tyrannize,
Shall fade, and share the common doom,

And death shall veil those eyes !
Then look to yon celestial sphere,

Where souls with rapture glow j
And dread to need that pity there^

Which you denied below.

SONG LXXVII.
THE DAWN OF LOVE.*1

BY W. R. SPENCER, ESa. f

IF guardian pow'rs preside above,
Who still extend to virtuous love

A tutelary care 5

The virgin-bosom's earliest dole,
The first-born passion of the soul,

Must find protection there.

* From the comedy of ' Urania, or the IllumineV
t [The accomplished author of Poems lately published in the En.
glish, French, and Italian languages.]

90 LOVE-SONGS.

Never can noon's maturer ray
That charm of orient light display,

Which morning suns impart ;
So can no later passion prove
That glow which gilds the dawn of love,

The day-spring of the heart !

SONG LXXVIII.
TRUE LOVE.*

BY MR. BICKERSTAFF.

OH ! talk not to me of the wealth she possesses,
My hopes and my views to herself I confine j

The splendour of riches but slightly impresses
A heart that is fraught with a passion like mine.

By love, only love, should our souls be cemented,
No hit' rest, no motive, but that would I own ;

With her in a cottage be blest and contented,

And wretched without her though plac'd on a throne.

SONG LXXIX.

BY MR. BICKERSTAFF. f

How much superior beauty awes,

The coldest bosoms find j
But with resistless force it draws,

To sense and sweetness join'd.

* From the opera of * The Maid of the Mill.'
t From the comic opera of ' Love in a Village.

LOVE-SONGS. 91

The casket, where to outward show
The workman's art is seen,

Is doubly valu'd, when we know
It holds a gem within.

SONG LXXX.

BY THOMAS CAREW, ESCL.

ASK me no more, where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose :
For in your beauties' orient deep
These flow'rs, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more, whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day :
For, in pure love, did heaven prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more, whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past :
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more, where those stars light
That downward fall in dead of night ;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more, if east or west,
The phoenix builds her spicy nest :
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

92 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG LXXXI.

BY JAMES THOMSON, ESft.

TELL me, thou soul of her I love !

Ah ! tell me, whither art thou fled :
To what delightful world above,

Appointed for the happy dead ?

Or dost thou free, at pleasure, roam,
And sometimes share thy lover's woe ;

Where, void of thee, his cheerless home
Can now, alas ! no comfort know ?

Oh ! if thou hover'st round my walk,
While under ev'ry well-known tree,

I to thy fancied shadow talk,
And ev'ry tear is full of thee :

Should, then, the weary eye of grief,
Beside some sympathetic stream,

In slumber find a short relief,

Oh, visit thou my soothing dream !

SONG LXXXII.
THE WEALTH OF THE COTTAGE*.

A BLESSING unknown to ambition and pride,

That fortune can never abate,
To wealth and to splendour though often denied,

Yet on poverty deigns to await.

* In the opera of ' Paul and Virginia.'

LOVE-SONGS. 93

That blessing, through Providence, be it my lot,
As a blessing that comes from above,

Deep fixt in my heart shall be never forgot,
That the wealth of the cottage is love.

Whate'er my condition, why should I repine ?

By poverty never distrest ;
Exulting I felt what a treasure was mine,

A treasure secur'd in my breast.

SONG LXXXIIL*

OH, ever in my bosom live,

Thou source of endless pleasure !
Since nothing else on earth can give

So dear, so rich a treasure.
True love, perhaps, may bring alarms

But if the child of reason,
It adds to summer greater charms,

And cheers the wintry season.

The lustre of the great and gay

Is transitory fashion ;
Whilst pure and lasting is the ray

Of unaffected passion :
When danger threats the peasant's cot

And cruel cares assail it ;
Affection's smiles shall soothe his lot,

Or bid him not bewail it.

* From the musical entertainment of * Oscar and Malvina/

94 LOVE-SONGS.

Then let us each on each rely,

A mutual transport borrow ;
The slavish forms of life defy,

And artificial sorrow.
Content, we'll sport and laugh and sing,

Grow livelier and jocoser ;
While Time, that flits on envious wing.

Will bind our hearts the closer.

SONG LXXXIV.

BY PRINCE HOARE, ESft.

ARE ye fair as opening roses,
Tender maidens, ah ! beware ;

When its bloom the heart discloses,
Love will find a dwelling there :

Prudence then in vain opposes j
Youth is never wise as fair.

CLASS II.— SONG I.
ADDRESS TO BRITAIN.

BY MR. DRYDEN.*

FAIREST isle, all isles excelling,
Seat of pleasure and of love ;

Venus here will choose her dwelling-,
And forsake her Cyprian grove.

Cupid, from his fav'rite nation,
Care and envy will remove,

Jealousy that poisons passion,
And despair that dies for love.

* In the dramatic opera of ' King Arthur.

96 LOVE-SONGS.

Gentle murmurs, sweet complaining-,
Sighs that blow the fire of love,

Soft repulses, kind disdaining,
Shall be all the pains you prove :

Every swain shall pay his duty,
Grateful every nymph shall prove j

And as these excel in beauty,

Those shall be renown' d for love.

SONG II.
TO CUPID, ON VALENTINE'S DAY.

BY MR. PARRAT.

COME thou rosy- dimpled boy,
Source of every heart-felt joy ;
Leave the blissful bow'rs awhile,
Paphos and the Cyprian isle :
Visit Britain's rocky shore,
Britons too thy pow'r adore,
Britons, hardy, bold, and free,
Own thy laws, and yield to thee.
Source of every heart-felt joy,
Come thou rosy-dimpled boy.

Haste to Sylvia, haste away,
This is thine, and Hymen's day;
Bid her thy soft bondage wear,
Bid her for Love's rites prepare.
Let the nymphs with many a flow'r
Deck the sacred nuptial bow'r.

LOVE-SONGS.

Thither lead the lovely fair,,
And let Hymen too be there.
This is thine and Hymen's day,
Haste to Sylvia, haste away.

Only while we love we live,
Love alone can pleasure give ;
Pomp and pow'r, and tinsel state,
Those false pageants of the great,
Crowns and sceptres, envied things,
And the pride of eastern kings,
Are but childish empty toys,
When compar'd to Love's sweet joys.
Love alone can pleasure give,
Only while we love we live. '

SONG III.

ASK me not how calmly I
All the cares of life defy •
How I baffle human woes,
Woman, woman, woman knows.

You may live and laugh as I,
You, like me, may cares defy 3
All the pangs the heart endures,
Woman, woman, woman cures/

Ask me not of empty toys,
Feats of arms, and drunken joys ;
I have pleasure more divine,

Woman, woman, woman's mine
Voz,. I. H

98 LOVE-SONGS.

Rapture more than folly knows,
More than fortune e'er bestows,
Flowing bowls, and conquer 'd fields,
Woman, woman, woman yields.

Ask me not of woman's arts,
Broken vows, and faithless hearts $
Tell the wretch that pines and grievesr
Woman, woman, woman lives.

All delights the heart can know,
More than folly can bestow,
Wealth of worlds, and crowns of kings,
Woman, woman, woman brings.

SONG IV.

BY MR. DRYDEN.*

AH, how sweet it is to love !

Ah, how gay is young desire !
And what pleasing pains we prove,

When we first approach love's fire j
Pains of love be sweeter far
Than all other pleasures are.

Sighs, which are from lover's blown,
Do but gently heave the heart j

Ev'n the tears they shed alone,

Cure, like trickling balm, thoir smart

* In the tragedy of < Tyrannic Love.'

LOVE-SONGS. 99

Lovers, when they lose their breath,,
Bleed away in easy death.

Love and time with reverence use,

Treat 'em like a parting friend -,
Nor the golden gifts refuse,

Which, in youth, sincere they send ;
For each year their price is more,
And they less simple than before.

Love, like spring-tides full and high.

Swells in every youthful vein ;
But each tide does less supply,

Till they quite shrink in again :
If a flow in age appear,
'Tis but rain, and runs not clear.

SONG V.
WHAT IS LOVE?

LOVE'S no irregular desire,

No sudden start of raging pain,

Which in a moment grows a fire,
And in a moment cools again.

Not found in the sad sonneteer,

That sings of darts, despair, and chains,
And by whose dismal verse, 'tis clear,

He wants not heart alone, but brains.
H 2

100 LOVE-SONGS.

Nor does it center in the beau,
Who sighs by rule, by order dies ;

Whose all consists in outward show,
And want of wit by dress supplies.

No, Love is something so divine,
Description would but make it less :

'Tis what I feel, but can't define 5
Tis what I know, but can't express.

SONG VI.
TRUE LOVE.

BY MR. HENRY CAREY.*

LOVE'S a gentle gen'rous passion,
Source of all sublime delight,

When with mutual inclination
Two fond hearts in one unite.

What are titles, pomp or riches,
If compar'd with true content I

That false joy, which now bewitches,
When obtain' d we may repent

Lawless passions bring vexation -,
But a chaste and constant love,

Is a glorious emulation
Of the blissful state above.

In * The Honest Yorkshircman,' a ballad farce.

LOVE-SONGS. 101

SONG VII.

OH ! how vain is every blessing,

How insipid all our joys,
Life how little worth possessing,

But when love its time employs !

Love, the purest noblest pleasure,

That the gods on earth bestow 3
Adding wealth to every treasure,

Taking pain from every woe.

SONG VIII.

BY SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

HONEST lover whatsoever,
If in all thy love there ever
Was one wav'ring thought j if thy flame,
Were not atill even, still the same ;
Know this,

Thou lov'st amiss ;

And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

If when she appears i'th' room,

Thou dost not quake, and art struck dumb,

And in striving this to cover

Dost not speak thy words twice over j

Know this,
Thou lov'st amiss j
And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

102 LOVE-SONGS.

Jf fondly thou dost not mistake,
And all defects for graces take,
Persuad'st thyself that jests are broken,
When she hath little or nothing spoken,

Know this,
Thou lov'st amiss j
And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

If when thou appear 'st to be within,
Thou lett'st not men ask and ask again ;
And when thou answerest, if it be
To what was ask'd thee properly,
Know this,

Thou lov'st amiss ;

And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

If when thy stomach calls to eat,
Thou cutt'st not fingers 'stead of meat,
And with much gazing on her face,
Dost not rise hungry from the place,

Know this,
Thou lov'st amiss j
And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

If by this thou dost discover
That thou art no perfect lover,
And desiring to love true,
Thou dost begin to love anew -}

LOVE-SONGS. 103

Know this,
Thou lov'st amiss j
And to love true,
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

SONG IX.

TELL me, Damon, dost thou languigh
With a slow, consuming fire ;

Melting still in speechless anguish
For the maid thou dost admire ?

If thy heart such passion prove,

Shepherd, thou dost truly love.

flying, dost thou still pursue her ?

Absent, does she haunt thy dream ?
Present, dost thou ceaseless woo her ?

Is her worth thy only theme ?
If thy heart such passion prove,
Shepherd, thou dost truly love.

Does each rival's merit grieve thee ?

Whilst in health dost thou complain ?
Can no balm but love relieve thee ?

None but Celia ease thy pain ?
If thy heart such passion prove.
Shepherd, thou dost truly love.

Canst thou view each bright perfection
In her mind, and in her face ?

Does each fault escape detection,
Every blemish seem a grace ?

104 LOVE-SONGS.

If thy heart such passion prove,
Shepherd, thou dost truly love.

Then in love if there be pleasure,
Unallay'd by care and pain j

Venus shall confer the treasure
On her true devoted swain.

Venus shall thy suit approve j

Shepherd, thou dost truly love.

SONG X.

BY MISS AIKIN*.

COME here fond youth, whoe'er thou be

That boasts to love as well as me,
And if thy breast have felt so wide a wound,

Come hither and thy flame approve j

I'll teach thee what it is to love,
And by what marks true passion may be found.

It is to be all bath'd in tears,

To live upon a smile for years,
To lie whole ages at a beauty's feet $

To kneel, to languish and implore,

And still though she disdain, adore ;
It is to do all this, and think thy sufferings sweet.

* [Now Mrs. Barbauld ; the distinguished sister of Dr. Aikin ;
who, by condescending, amid more splendid efforts of intellect, to
write * Hymns in prose for Children,' has ensured to herself the
respect and gratitude of every filial and parental heart.]

LOVE-SONGS. 105

It is to gaze upon her eyes

With eager joy and fond surprise,
Yet temper 'd with such chaste and awful fear

As wretches feel who wait their doom $

Nor must one ruder thought presume,
Though but in whispers breathed, to meet her ear.

It is to hope, though hope were lost,

Though heaven and earth thy passion crost 5
Though she were bright as sainted queens above,

And thou the least and meanest swain

That folds his flock upon the plain,
Yet if thou dar'st not hope, thou dost not love.

It is to quench thy joy in tears,

To nurse strange doubts and groundless fears j
If pangs of jealousy thou hast not prov'd,

Though she were fonder and more true

Than any nymph old poets drew,
Oh ! never dream again that thou hast lov'd.

If when the darling maid is gone,

Thou dost not seek to be alone,
Wrapt in a pleasing trance of tender woe j

And muse, and fold thy languid arms,

Feeding thy fancy on her charms,
Thou dost not love, for love is nourish' d so,

If any hopes thy bosom share

But those which love has planted there,
Or any cares but his thy breast inthral,

Thou never yet his power hast known 3

Love sits on a despotic throne,
And reigns a tyrant, if he reigns at all.

106 LOVE-SONGS.

Now if thou art so lost a thing,
Here all thy tender sorrows bring,

And prove whose patience longest can endure j
We'll strive whose fancy shall be lost
In dreams of fondest passion most j

For if thou thus hast lov'd, oh ! never hope a cure.

SONG XI.

A MAXIM this, amongst the wise,

That absence cures a love-sick mind 5

And others, who philosophise,

Gravely pronounce, that Love is blind.

Alas ! too well do lovers see j

And, separated, best agree.

Banish me from Belinda's sight ;

Or,, the fond maid far hence remove :
Our bodies part, our souls unite ;

The more we grieve, the more we love
Believe the youth you wrongly blame j
Absence adds fuel to the flame.

Between us burning desarts place -,
Or trackless mountains hid in snow $

Or, let the wide unfathom'd space
Of roaring seas between us flow :

Place, or not place them 5 'tis all one ;

Empires have bounds, but love has none.

Secure us, if you can secure,

On distant rocks, in towers of brass :
When faithful lovers most endure,

Still most improv'd their minutes

LOVE-SONGS 107

Imprison her ; imprison me :

In spite of prisons, thought is free.

Cease, then, your idle cruel arts ;

Recall your harsh command :
A destiny rules over hearts,

And who can destiny withstand ?
In vain, alas ! is human skill ;
Love will be love, do what you will.

SONG XII.
LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY*.

OVER the mountains,

And over the waves j
Under the fountains,

And under the graves ;
Under floods that are deepest,

Which Neptune obey j
Over rocks that are steepest,

Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place

For the glow-worm to lie j
Where there is no space

For receipt of a fly :

* This excellent old song, Dr. Percy tells us, he could only give
from modern copies ; and not even that we believe without a few
brilliant touches from his own pencil. All the copies, both old and
new, which the editor consulted, were too incorrect to be made use.
of; though no less than eight additional verses are to be found in
the black-letter copies.

103 LOVE-SONGS.

Where the midge dare not venture,
Lest herself fast she lay :

If love come, he will enter,
And soon find out his way.

You may esteem him

A child for his might,
Or you may deem him

A coward from his flight ;
But if she, whom love doth honour.

Be conceal' d from the day,
Set a thousand guards upon her,

Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him,

By having him confin'd j
And some do suppose him,

Poor thing, to be blind :
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,

Do the best that you may,
Blind love, if so ye call him,

Will find out his way.

You may train the eagle

To stoop to your fist j
Or you may inveigle

The pho3nix of the east ;
The lioness, ye may move her

To give o'er her prey ;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover :

Love will find out his way..

LOVE-SONGS. 109

SONG XIII.

BY MR. THEOBALD.

OFT on the troubled ocean's face

Loud stormy winds arise ;
The murmuring surges swell apace,

And clouds obscure the skies.

But when the tempest's rage is o'er,

Soft breezes smooth the main j
The billows cease to lash the shore,

And all is calm again.

Not so in fond and amorous souls

If tyrant love once reigns,
There one eternal tempest rolls,

And yields unceasing pains.
Ah ! cruel god, our peace restore,
Or wound us with thy shafts no more.

SONG XIV.
LOVE'S A RIDDLE.

BY MR. HENRY CAREY.

THE flame of love assuages,

When once it is reveal'd ;
But fiercer still it rages,

The more it is conceal' d.

110 LOVE-SONGS.

Consenting makes it colder j
When met, it will retreat :

Repulses make it bolder,
And dangers make it sweet.

SONG XV.
THE ILLUSION OF LOVE.

LOVE'S a dream of mighty treasure,

Which in fancy we possess ;
In the folly lies the pleasure,

Wisdom ever makes it less.

For who thinks, by passion heated,

He a goddess has in chase ;
Ixion-like, he will be cheated,

And a gaudy cloud embrace.

Only happy is the lover,

Whom his mistress well deceives j
Seeking nothing to discover,

He contented lives at ease.

But the wretch who will be knowing
"What the fair-one would disguise,

Labours at his own undoing,

Changing happy to be wise. O.

LOVE-SONGS. Ul

SONG XVI.

BY ROBERT WOLSELEY, ESQ.,

FREEDOM is a real treasure,

Love a dream, all false and vain j

Short, uncertain, is the pleasure,
Sure and lasting is the pain.

A sincere and tender passion

Some ill planet over rules ;
Ah, how blind is inclination !

Fate and women dote on fools.

SONG XVII.

BY SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE.

YE happy swains, whose hearts are free

From love's imperial chain,
Take warning, and be taught by me

T'avoid th' enchanting pain.
Fatal the wolves to trembling flocks,

Fierce winds to blossoms prove,
To careless seamen hidden rocks.

To human quiet love.

Fly the fair sex, if bliss you prize ;

The snake's beneath the flower :
Who ever gaVd on beauteous eyes.

That tasted quiet more ?

11« LOVE-SONGS.

How faithless is the lover's joy !

How constant is his care !
The kind with falsehood do destroy,

The cruel with despair.

SONG XVIII.

IMITATED FROM CHAUCER.

FROM sweet bewitching tricks of love

Young men your hearts secure,
Lest from the paths of sense you rove,

In dotage premature.
Look at each lass through wisdom's glass,

Nor trust the naked eye :
Gallants beware, look sharp, take care,

The blind eat many a fly.

Not only on their hands and necks

The borrow' d white you'll tind j
Some belles, when interest directs,

Can even paint the mind j
Joy in distress they can express,

Their very tears can lie :
Gallants beware, look sharp, take care,

The blind eat many a fly.

There's not a spinster in the realm

But all mankind can cheat,
Down to the cottage from the helm,

The learn' d, the brave, the great >

LOVE-SONGS. 113

With lovely looks, and golden hooks,

T' entangle us they try :
Gallants beware, look sharp, take care,

The blind eat many a fly.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,

Was earth of parchment made ;
Was every single stick a quill,

Each man a scribe by trade ;
To write the tricks of half the sex

Would suck that ocean dry :
Gallants beware, look sharp, take care,

The blind eat many a fly.

SONG XIX.
CHAUCER'S RECANTATION.

A Panegyric on the Ladies.

BY MR. CHRISTOPHER SMART.
RECITATIVE.

OLD CHAUCER once to this re-echoing grove*
Sung of ' The sweet bewitching tricks of love ; '
But soon he found he'd sullied his renown,
And arm'd each charming hearer with a frown :
Then self-condemn' d anew his lyre he strung,
And in repentant strains this recantation sung !

* Spring-gardens, Vauxhall, where the foregoing ballad was sung.
The air of this cantata is likewise an imitation of a poem ascribed
to Chaucer. [What Ritson meant by this I do not comprehend.]

VOL. I. I

114 LOVE-SONGS.

AIR.

Long since unto her native sky
Fled heav'n-descended Constancy j
Nought now that's stable's to be had,
The world's grown mutable and mad -,
Save women — they, we must confess,
Are miracles of stedfastness ;
And ev'ry witty, pretty dame,
Bears for her motto — STILL THE SAME.

The flowers that in the vale are seen,
The white, the yellow, blue and green,
In brief complexion idly gay,
Still set with every setting day j
Dispers'd by wind, or chill' d by frost,
Their odour's gone, their colour lost :
But what is true, though passing strange,
The women never — fade or change.

The wise man said that all was vain,
And follies universal reign j
Wisdom its vot'ries oft enthralls,
Riches torment, and pleasure palls ;
And 'tis, good lack, a gen'ral rule,
That each man soon or late's a fool :
In women 'tis th' exception lies,
For they are wond'rous, wond'rous wise.

This earthly ball with noise abounds,
And from its emptiness it sounds :
Fame's deaf 'ning din, the hum of men,
The lawyer's plea, the poet's pen :

LOVE-SONGS. 115

But women here no one suspects,

Silence distinguishes that sex j

For, poor dumb things ! so meek's their mould,

You scarce can hear 'em — when they scold.

CHORUS.

An hundred mouths, an hundred tongues,

An hundred pair of iron lungs,

Five heralds, and five thousand criers,

With throats whose accent never tires,

Ten speaking trumpets, of a size

Would deafness with their din surprise,

Your praise, sweet nymphs, shall sing and say,

And those that will believe it — may.

SONG XX.
ADVICE TO LOVERS*.

BY MRS. GIBBER.

WOULD you with her you love be blest,

Ye lovers, these instructions mind ;
Conceal the passion in your breast,

Be dumb, insensible, and blind :
But when with tender looks you meet,

And see the artless blushes rise $
Be silent, loving, and discreet,

And this is what I would advise.

* In the comedy of ' The Oracle.'

116 LOVE-SONGS.

When once you prove the maid sincere,

Where virtue is with beauty join'd,
Then boldly like yourself appear,

No more insensible, or blind :
Pour forth the transports of your heart,

And speak your soul without disguise ;
'Tis fondness fondness must impart ;

And this is what I would advise.

Though pleasing, fatal is the snare,

That still entraps all woman-kind ;
Ladies, beware, be wise, take care,

Be deaf, insensible, and blind j
But should some fond deserving youth

Agree to join in marriage ties,
Be tender, constant, crown his truth ;

And this is what I would advise.

SONG XXI.

BY MATILDA BETHAM.

LUCY, I think not of thy beauty j
I praise not each peculiar grace :

To see thee in the path of duty,
And with that happy smiling face,

Conveys more pleasure to thy friend

Than any outward charm can lend.

I see thy grateful babes caress thee ;

I mark thy wise maternal care j
And sadly do the words impress me,

The heartless words, that thou art fair !
I wonder that a tongue is found
To utter the unfeeling sound.

LOVE-SONGS. 117

For art not thou above such praises ?

And is this all that they can see ?
Poor is the joy such flattery raises,

And oh ! how much unworthy thee !
Unworthy one whose heart can feel
The voice of truth, the warmth of zeal*

O Lucy ! thou art snatch' d from folly,

Become too tender to be vain :
The world — it makes me melancholy —

The world would lure thee back again $
And it would cost me many sighs

To see it win so bright a prize.

Though passing apprehensions move me,

I know thou hast a noble heart :
But, Lucy, I so truly love thee,

So much admire thee as thou art,
That but the shadow of a fear,
Wakes in my breast a pang sincere.

SONG XXII.
THE CHOICE OF A RURAL WIFE.

WOULD you choose a wife, for a happy life,

Leave the court, and the country take ;
Where Susan and Doll, and Nancy and Moll,
Follow Harry and John, whilst harvest goes on.
And merrily merrily rake.

118 LOVE-SONGS.

Leave the London dames, be it spoke to their shames,

To lie in their beds till noon ;
Then get up and stretch, then paint too and patch,
Some widgeon to catch, then look to their watch,

And wonder they rose up so soon.

Then coffee and tea, both green and bohea,

Is serv'd to their tables in plate ;
Where their tattles do run, as swift as the sun,
Of what they have won, and who is undone,

By their gaming and sitting up late.

The lass give me here, though brown as my beer,

That knows how to govern her house ;
That can milk her cow, or farrow her sow,
Make butter or cheese, or gather green pease,
And values fine clothes not a souse.

This, this is the girl, worth rubies and pearl $

This the wife that will make a man rich :
We gentlemen need, no quality breed,
To squander away, what taxes would pay ;
In troth, we care for none such.

SONG XXIII.

BY SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

I PRY'THEE send me back my heart,

Since I cannot have thine :
For if from your's you will not part,

Why then should' st thou have mine ?•

LOVE-SONGS. 119

Yet now I think on't, let it lie 5

To find it were in vain :
For you've a thief in either eye

Would steal it back again.

Why should two hearts in one breast lie,

And yet not lodge together ?
Oh, love ! where is thy sympathy,

If thus our breasts thou sever ?

But love is such a mystery,

I cannot find it out :
For when I think I'm best resolv'd,

I then am most in doubt.

Then farewell ease, and farewell woe,

I will no longer pine :
For I'll believe I have her heart

As much as she has mine.

SONG XXIV.
INTERESTED LOVE.

HAPPY the world in that blest age,

When beauty was not bought and sold,

When the fair mind was uninflam'd
With the mean thirst of baneful gold.

Then the kind shepherd, when he sigh'ci,
The swain, whose dog was all his wealth,

Was not by cruel parents forc'd

To breathe the am'rous vow by stealth.

190 LOVE-SONGS.

Now the first question fathers ask,
When for their girls fond lovers sue,

Is — What's the settlement you'll make ?
You're poor ! — he flings the door at you

SONG XXV.

While for men the women fair,
Lay the cunning gilded snare ;
While, like fish, the men will rove,
And with beauty fall in love j
What is beauty but a bait,
Oft repented when too late.

If too soon you seize the prize,
When display 'd before your eyes ;
Much you'll rue, when all is past,
Wedlock's hook which holds you fast.
Ere you marry, then, beware,
'Tis a blessing or a snare.

CLASS III.— SONG I.
DISDAIN RETURNED.

BY THOMAS CAREW, ESft.*

He that Ipves a rosy cheek,

Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek

Fuel to maintain his fires ,
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,

Hearts with equal love combin'd,
Kindle never dying fires :

* Sewer to King Charles I.

LOVE-SONGS.

Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes .

No tears, Celia, now shall win
My resolv'd heart to return j

I have search'd thy soul within,

And find nought but pride, and scorn

I have learn'd thy arts, and now

Can disdain as much as thou.

Some power in my revenge convey,

That love to her I cast away.

SONG II.

BY WILLIAM PULTENEY, ESQ.*

VAIN are the charms of white and red,
Which paint the blooming fair ;

Give me the nymph whose snow is spread
Not o'er her breast, but hair.

Of smoother cheeks the winning grace,

With open force defies ;
But in the wrinkles of her face

Cupid in ambush lies.

If naked eyes set hearts on blaze
And amorous warmth inspire j

Through glass, who darts her pointed rays.
Lights up a fiercer fire.

* Afterwards Earl of Bath.

LOVE-SONGS. 123

Nor rivals, nor the train of years,

My peace or bliss destroy ;
Alive, she gives no jealous fears,

And dead, she crowns my joy.

SONG III.

THOUGH, Flavia, to my warm desire

You mean no kind return,
Yet still with undiminish'd fire

You wish to see me burn.

Averse my anguish to remove,

You think it wond'rous right,
That I love on, for ever love,

And you for ever slight.

But you and I shall ne'er agree,

So, gentle nymph, adieu j
Since you no pleasure have fin: me,

I'll have no pain for you.

SONG IV.

BELINDA, see from yonder flow'rs

The bee flies loaded to its cell 5
Can you perceive what it devours ?

Are they impair 'd in show or smell ?

So, though I robb'd you of a kiss,

Sweeter than their ambrosial dew,
Why are you angry at my bliss ?

Has it at all impoverish' d you ?

124 LOVE-SONGS.

'Tis by this cunning I contrive,
In spite of your unkind reserve,

To keep my famish' d love alive,

Which you inhumanly would starve.

SONG V.
THE SELF-BANISHED.

BY EDMUND WALLER, ESQ..

IT is not that I love you less,

Than when before your feet I lay j

But, to prevent the sad increase
Of hopeless love, I keep away.

In vain, alas ! for every thing
Which I have known belong to you,

Your form does to my fancy bring,

And makes my old wounds bleed anew.

Who in the spring, from the new sun,

Already has a fever got,
Too late begins those shafts to shun

Which Phoebus through his veins hath shot

Too late he would the pain assuage,
And to thick shadows does retire :

About with him he bears the rage,
And in his tainted blood the fire.

LOVE-SONGS. 125

But vow'd I have, and never must
Your banish' d servant trouble you :

For if I break, you may mistrust
The vow I made — to love you too.

SONG VI.

YES, Daphne, in your face I find,

Those charms by which my heart's betray 'd
Then let not your disdain unbind

The prisoner that your eyes have made :
She that in love makes least defence,

Wounds ever with the surest dart,
Beauty may captivate the sense,

But kindness only gains the heart.

'Tis kindness, Daphne, must maintain

The empire that you once have won ;
When beauty does like tyrants reign,

Its subjects from their duty run :
Then force me not to be untrue,

Lest I, compel!' d by gen'rous shame,
Cast off my loyalty to you,

To gain a glorious rebel's name.

SONG VII.

BY MR. JOHN HOWE.

IN Chloris all soft charms agree,
Inchanting humour, powerful wit,

Beauty from affectation free,
And for eternal empire fit.

126 LOVE-SONGS.

Wheree'er she goes love waits her eyes,
The women envy, men adore -}

But did she less the triumph prize,
She would deserve the conquest more.

The pomp of love so much prevails,

She begs, what else none would deny her,
Makes such advances with her eyes,

The hope she gives, prevents desire ;
Catches at every trifling heart,

Seems warm with every glimm'ring flame
The common prey so deads the dart,

It scarce can pierce a noble game.

I could lie ages at her feet,

Adore her, careless of my pain,
With tender vows her rigours meet,

Despair, love on, and not complain.
My passion, from all change secure,

No favours raise, no frown controuls ;
I any torment can endure,

But hoping with a crowd of fools.

SONG VIII.

BY MR. MOSES MENDEZ*.

You say, at your feet I have wept in despair,
And vow'd that no angel was ever so fair :
How could you believe all the nonsense I spoke ?
What know we of angels ? — I meant it in joke.

* In the musical entertainment of * The Chaplet.'

LOVE-SONGS. 127

I next stand indicted for swearing to love,
And that nothing but death should my passion remove :
I have lik'd you a twelvemonth : — a calendar year :
And not yet contented ! — Have conscience, my dear.

SONG IX.
1NGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED.

BY THOMAS CAREW, ESQ..

KNOW Celia, (since thou art so proud,)
'Twas I that gave thee thy renown :

Tliou hadst, in the forgotten crowd
Of common beauties liv'd unknown,

Had not my verse exhal'd thy name,

And with it impt the wings of fame.

That killing power is none of thine,
I gave it to thy voice and eyes :

Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine ;
Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies ;

Then dart not, from thy borrow' d sphere,

Lightning on him that fix'd thee there.

Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate :

Let fools thy mystic form adore,
I'll know thee in thy mortal state.

Wise poets that wrap'd truth in tales,

Knew her themselves through all her veils.

•-..

128 LOVE-SONGS

SONG X.
TO A LADY MORE CRUEL THAN FAIR.

BY MR. VANBROOK.

WHY d'ye with such disdain refuse

An humble lover's plea ?
Since Heaven denies you power to choose,

You ought to value me.

Ungrateful mistress of a heart,,

Which I so freely gave j
Though weak your bow, though blunt your dart,

I soon resign' d your slave.

Nor was I weary of your reign,

'Till you a tyrant grew,
And seem'd regardless of my pain,

As nature seem'd of you.

When thousands with unerring eyes

Your beauty would decry 5
What graces did my love devise,

To give their truths the lie ?

To every grove I told your charms,

In you my heav'n I plac'd,
Proposing pleasure in your arms,

Which none but I could taste.

LOVE-SONGS.

For me t' admire, at such a rate,
So curst a face, will prove —

You have as little cause to hate,
As I had cause to love.

SONG XI.
A FAREWELL TO LOVE.

BY SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.

ONCE more love's mighty charms are broke,
His strength and cunning I defy ;

Once more I have thrown off his yoke,
And am a man, and do despise the boy.

Thanks to her pride, and her disdain,
And all the follies of a scornful mind :

I'd ne'er possess'd my heart again.
If fair Miranda had been kind.

Welcome, fond wanderer, as ease

And plenty to a wretch in pain,
That worn with want and with disease,

Enjoys his health, and all his friends again.

Let others waste their time and youth,

Watch and look pale, to gain a peevish maid,

And learn too late this dear-bought truth,
At length they're sure to be betray'd.

VOL. I.

130 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XII.
THE RECONCILEMENT.

BY SHEFFIELD DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

COME, let us now resolve at last

To live and love in quiet :
We'll tie the knot so very fast,

That time shall ne'er untie it.

The truest joys they seldom prove,
Who free from quarrels live j

'Tis the most tender part of love
Each other to forgive.

When least I seem'd concern' d, I took

No pleasure, nor no rest j
And when I feign' d an angry look,

Alas ! I lov'd you best.

Say but the same to me, you 11 find
How blest will be our fate ;

Oh ! to be happy, to be kind,
Sure, never is too late.

SONG XIII.

BY MR. CONGREVE.

FALSE though she be to me and love,
I'll ne'er pursue revenge j

For still the charmer I approve,
Though I deplore her change.

LOVE-SONGS. 131

In hours of bliss we oft have met,
They could not always last ;

And though the present I regret,
I'm grateful for the past.

SONG XIV.

BY MR. ADDISON.*

IF 'tis joy to wound a lover,

How much more to give him ease,

When his passion you discover ?
Ah ! how pleasing 'tis to please :

The bliss returns, and we receive

Transports greater than we give.

SONG XV.
LOVE FOR LOVE.

BY SIR FULKE GREVILLE, LORD BROOKE.

AWAY with these self-loving lads,
Whom Cupid's arrow never glads !
Away poor souls, that sigh and weep,
In love of those that lie asleep !
For Cupid is a merry god,
And forceth none to kiss the rod.

* In the opera of i Rosamond.'
K 2

182 LOVE-SONGS,

Sweet Cupid's shafts, like destiny,

Do causeless good or ill decree ;

Desert is borne out of his bow,

Reward upon his, wing doth go !

What fools are they that have not known,,
That love likes no laws but his own ?

My songs they be of Cynthia's praise,
I wear her rings on holidays,
In every tree I write her name,
And every day I read the same.

Where honour, Cupid's rival, IB

There miracles are seen of his !

If Cynthia crave her ring of me,
I blot her name out of the tree :
If doubt do darken things held dear,
Then farewell nothing once a-year !

For many run, but one must win j

Fools only hedge the cuckow in !

The worth that worthiness should move

Is love, that is the bow of love ;

And love as well the foster* can,

As can the mighty nobleman.

Sweet saint, 'tis true you worthy be :
Yet, without love, nought worth to me.

* A very old contraction of forester, much used by Spenser, and
other ancient writers. [See Mr. Todd's variorum edition of the
Faery Queen, iv. 257. where instances of its earlier usage are adduced
Chaucer, and Bevis of Hampton.]

LOVE-SONGS. 133

SONG XVI.

BY JOHN BULTEEL.*

CHLORIS, 'twill be for cither's rest
Truly to know each other's breast ;
I'll make th' obscurest part of mine
Transparent, as I would have thine :

If you will deal but so with me,

We soon shall part, or soon agree.

Know then, though you were twice as fair,
If it could be, as now you are 5
And though the graces of your mind
With a resembling lustre shin'd ;

Yet, if you lov'd me not, you'd see

I'd value those as you do me.

Though I a thousand times had sworn
My passion should transcend your scorn ;
And that your bright triumphant eyes
Create a flame that never dies j

* A person, of whom, it is believed, nothing more is known, than
that he was the collector of a small miscellany, published ahont the
middle of the 17th century, whence this and another song are ex-
tracted, both of which were ascribed to him by manuscript notes in
a copy the editor has seen : it was therefore but justice to pre-
fix his name. Ritson afterwards added — John Bulteel appears to
have been Secretary to the Earl of Clarendon, and to have died in
1669. See Biog. Drama, i. 51. [Quere whether be was not the
gentleman mentioned by Wood, as having translated from French into
English, " A General Chronological History of France, before the
reign of Pharamond," &c. printed at London, 1683, fol. Vide Fasti.]

134 LOVE-SONGS.

Yet, if to me you prov'd untrue,

Those oaths should prove as false to you.

If love I vow'd to pay for hate,
'Tvvas, I confess, a mere deceit ;
Or that my flame should deathless prove,
"Twas but to render so your love :
I brag'd, as cowards use to do,
Of dangers they'll ne'er run into.

And now my tenets I have show'd,
If you think them too great a load ;
T' attempt your change were but in vain,
The conquest not being worth the pain :

With them I'll other nymphs subdue ;

'Tis too much to lose time and you.

SONG XVII.

BY MR. DRYDEN.*

FAIR Iris I love, and hourly I die,
But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye ;
She's fickle and false, and there we agree,
For I am as false and as fickle as she ;
We neither believe what either can say,
And neither believing, we neither betray.

'Tis civil to swear and to say things of course
We mean not the taking for better for worse •

* ID the comedy of ' Amphitryon/

LOVE-SONGS, 135

When present, we love j when absent, agree 5
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me :
The legend of love no couple can find,
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.

SONG XVIII.

BY ME. MATTHEW CONCANEN.

1 LOVE thee, by heavens ! I cannot say more j

Then set not my passion a cooling -,
If thou yield'st not at once, I must e'en give thee o'er,

For I'm but a novice at fooling.

What my love wants in words, it shall make up in deeds ;

Then why should we waste time in stuff, child ?
A performance, you wot well, a promise exceeds,

And a word to the wise is enough, child.

I know how to love, and to make that love known,

But I hate all protesting and arguing :
Had a goddess my heart, she should e'en lie alone,

If she made many words to a bargain,

I'm a quaker in love, and but barely affirm
Whate'er my fond eyes have been saying :

Prythee, be thou so too ; seek for no better term,
But e'en throw thy yea, or thy nay in.

I cannot bear love, like a- chancery-suit,

The age of a patriarch depending ;
Then pluck up a spirit, no longer be mute,

Give it, one way or other, an ending.

136 LOVE-SONGS.

Long courtship's the vice of a phlegmati« fool,

Like the grace of fanatical sinners,
Where the stomachs are lost, and the victuals grow cool,

Before men sit down to their dinners.

SONG XIX.

BY EUSTACE BUDGELL, ESft.

I'M not one of your fops, who to please a coy lass,

Can lie whining and pining, and look like an ass.

Life is dull without love, and not worth the possessing :

But fools make a curse what was meant for a blessing.

While his godship's not rude, I'll allow him my breast ;

But, by Jove, out he goes, should he once break my re«t.

I can toy with a girl for an hour, to allay

The fluster of youth, or the ferment of May -}

But must beg her excuse, not to bear pain or anguish j

For that's not to love, by her leave, but to languish,

SONG XX;

B-Y SIR RICHARD STEELE.*.

LET not love on me bestow
Soft distress, and tender woe ;
I know none but substantial blisses,
Eager glances, solid kisses.

I know not what the lovers feign
Of finer pleasure mix'd with pain j
Then prythee give me, gentle boy,
None of thy grief, but all thy joy.

* In the comedy of « The Funeral/

LOVE-SONGS. 137

SONG XXI.
MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED.

BY THOMAS CAREW, ESQ.

GIVE me more love, or more disdain^

The torrid, or the frozen zone
Brings equal ease unto my pain -,

The temperate affords me none :
Either extreme, of love or hate,
Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm ; if it be love,

Like Danae in a golden show'r
I swim in pleasure 5 if it prove

Disdain, that torrent will devour
My vulture-hopes ; and he's possess'd
Of heaven, that's but from hell releas'd :
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ;
Give me more love, or more disdain.

SONG XXII.
DISPRAISE OF LOVE, AND LOVERS' FOLLIES.

IF love be life, I long to die,

Live they that list for me ;
And he that gains the most thereby,

A fool, at least shall be -,

* Son of William Davison, Secretary to Queen Elizabeth, whe
suffered so much through that princess's caprice and cruelty, in the
Hagical affair of Mary Queen of Scots.

138 LOVE-SONGS,

But he that feels the sorest fits,,
Scapes with no less than loss of wits •

Unhappy life they gain,

Which love do entertain.

In day by feigned looks they live,

By lying dreams by night j
Each frown a deadly wound doth give,
Each smile a false delight ;
If 't hap the lady pleasant seem,
It is for others' love they deem :

If void she seem of joy,

Disdain doth make her coy.

Such is the peace that lovers find,

Such is the life they lead j
Blown here and there with every wind,

Like flowers in the mead.
Now war, now peace, now war again 3
Desire, despair, delight, disdain :

Though dead, in midst of life ;

In peace, and yet at strife.

SONG XXIII.

BY GEORGE WITHER.*

SHALL I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman's fair ?
Or make pale my cheeks with care,
'Cause another's rosy are ?

* A voluminous writer in the early part of the last century. From
his long, dull, puritanical rhiines, he has acquired the name and cha-

LOVE-SONGS. 139

Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flowery meads in May 5

If she be not so to me,

What care I how fair she be.

Should my heart be griev'd or pin'd,
'Cause I see a woman kind >
Or a well disposed nature,
Joined with a lovely feature ?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle-dove or pelican ;

If she be not so to me,

What care I how kind she be.

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love ?
Or, her well-deservings known,
Make me quite forget mine own ?
Be she with that goodness blest,
Which may gain her name of Best j

If she be not such to me,

What care I how good she be.

'Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool, and die ?

racter of the English Bavins. His more juvenile pieces, however, of
which the above is a specimen, would not discredit the best writer
of that age. [In various researches after the poetry and biography
of Wither, the editor has not any where been able to trace the source
of the above stigma, unless it be derived from Dr. Percy's remark, in
vol. iii. of his Reliquos, that l Drydeu and Wither are coupled by
' Swift, like the Bavins and Maevius of Virgil.' This union, how-
ever, was honourable to Wither, and could bring little opprobrium
upon Dryden.]

140 LOVE-SONGS.

Those that bear a noble mind

Where they want of riches find,

Think what with them they would do,

That without them dare to woo :
And, unless that mind I see,
What care I though great she be.

Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair :
If she love me, this believe,
I will die, ere she shall grieve.
If she slight me when I woo j
I can scorn and let her go :

For, if she be not for me,

What care I for whom she be.

SONG XXIV.

BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

SHALL I, like an hermit, dwell
On a rock or in a cell ?
Calling home the smallest part
That is missing of my heart,
To bestow it where I may
Meet a rival every day ?

If she undervalues me,

What care I how fair she be.

Were her tresses angel-gold j *
If a stranger may be bold,

* [Gold coined into Angels was so termed, being of a finer kind
than crown gold. See Leake on English money.]

LOVE-SONGS. 141

Unrebuked, unafraid,
To convert them to a braid ,
And, with little more ado,
Work them into bracelets too j
If the mine be grown so free,
What care I how rich it be.

Were her hands as rich a prize
As her hairs or precious eyes j
If she lay them out to take
Kisses, for good manners sake ;
And let every lover skip
From her hand unto her lip ;
If she seem not chaste to me,
What care I how chaste she be.

No, she must be perfect snow,
In effect as well as show,
Warming but as snow- balls do,
Not, like fire, by burning too -,
But when she by chance hath got
To her heart a second lot ;

Then, if others share with me,
Farewell her, whate'er she be.

SONG XXV.

BY SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

WHY so pale and wan, fond lover ?

Prythee why so pale ?
Will, when looking well can't move her,

LOVE-SONGS.

Looking ill prevail ?
Prythee why so pale ?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner ?

Prythee why so mute ?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do't ?

Prythee why so mute ?

Quit, quit, for shame : this will not move,

This cannot take her j
If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her 5

The devil take her !

SONG XXVI.

YE little loves, that round her wait,

To bring me tidings of my fate j

As Celia on her pillow lies,

Ah ! gently whisper, ' Strephon dies ! *

If this will not her pity move,

And the proud fair disdains to love -,

Smile, and say, ' 'tis all a lie,

' And haughty Strephon scorns to die.'

SONG XXVII.

BY SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

'Tis now. since I sat down before

That foolish fort, a heart j
(Time strangely spent) a year, or more,

And still I did my part :

LOVE-SONGS. 143

Made my approaches ; from her hand

Unto her lip did rise,
And did already understand

The language of her eyes :

Proceeded on with no less art,,

My tongue was engineer 5
I thought to undermine the heart

By whispering in the ear.

When this did nothing, I brought down

Great cannon oaths, and shot
A thousand thousand to the town 5

And still it yielded not.

I then resolv'd to starve the place,

By cutting off all kisses 5
Praising and gazing on her face,

And all such little blisses.

To draw her out, and from her strength,

I drew all batteries in :
And brought myself to lie at length

As if no siege had bin. *

When I had done what man could do,
And thought the place mine own j

The enemy lay quiet too,
And smil'd at all was done.

* Many of the old poets, in imitation of Spenser, adopted a strange
and licentious method of altering both the orthography and pronun-
ciation of words to suit their versification. Some of these faults are
incorrigible, and this seems to be one. See also arrant, in Davison's
song, vol. ii, and than and emptvess, in Cowley's Chronicle, vol.i. p.153.

144 LOVE-SONGS.

I sent to know, from whence and where,

These hopes, and this relief ?
A spy inform' d, Honour was there,

And did command in chief.

' March, march, (quoth 1) the word straight give,
' I'll lose no time but leave her 5

f That giant upon air will live,
' And hold it out for ever.

' To such a place our camp remove

e As will no siege abide,:
' I hate a fool that starves her love,

' Only to feed her pride.'

SONG XXVIII.

BY MATTHEW PRIOR, E8Q.

THE merchant to secure his treasure
Conveys it in a borrow' d name j

Euphelia serves to grace my measure,
But Chloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre

Upon Euphelia' s toilet lay,
When Chloe noted her desire

That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,

But with my numbers mix my sighs ;

And whilst I sing Euphelia' s praise,
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.

LOVE-SONGS. 145

Fair Chloe blush' d, Euphelia frown' d ;

I sung and gaz'd, I play'd and trembled :
And Venus to the Loves around,

Remark' d how ill we all dissembled.

SONG XXIX.

BY SIR WILLIAM YONGE.

IN vain, dear Chloe, you suggest,
That I, inconstant, have possess'd,

Or lov'd a fairer she j
Would you, with ease, at once be cur'd
Of all the ills you've long endur'd,

Consult your glass and me.

If then you think, that I can find

A nymph more fair, or one more kind,

You've reason for your fears j
But if impartial you will prove
To your own beauty, and my love,

How needless are your tears.

If, in my way, I should, by chance,
Receive or give a wanton glance,

I like but while I view :
How slight the glance, how faint the kiss,
Compar'd to that substantial bliss

Which I receive from you !

VOL. I.

146 LOVE-SONGS.

With wanton flight the curious bee
From flow'r to flow'r still wanders free

And where each blossom blows,
Extracts the juice of all he meets,
But, for his quintessence of sweets

He ravishes the rose.

So I, my fancy to employ,
On each variety of joy,

From nymph to nymph do roam j
Perhaps see fifty in a day j *
They're all but visits that I pay,

For Chloe's still my home.

SONG XXX.

SHOULD some perverse malignant star
(As envious stars will sometimes shine)

Throw me from my Florella far,,
Let not my lovely fair repine,

If in her absence I should gaze

With pleasure on another's face.

The wearied pilgrim, when the sun

Has ended his diurnal race,
With pleasure sees th€ friendly moor*

By borrow' d light supply his place :
Not that he slights the god of day,
But loves ev'n his reflected ray.

LOVE-SONGS. 147

SONG XXXI.
TO CHLOE JEALOUS.

BY MATTHEW PRIOR, ESQ.

DEAR Chloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face !

Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl' d !
Prythee quit this caprice, and (as old Falstaff says)

Let us e'n talk a little like folks of this world.

How canst thou presume thou hast leave to destroy
The beauties which Venus but lent to thy keeping ?

Those looks were design' d to inspire love and joy :
More ord'nary eyes may serve people for weeping.

To be vex'd at a trifle or two that I writ,

Your judgment at once, and my passion you wrong j

You take that for fact, which will scarce be found wit :
Odslife ! must one swear to the truth of a song ?

What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, shows
The difference there is betwixt nature and art :

I court others in verse -, but I love thee in prose ;
And they have my whimsies, but thou hast my heart,

The god of us verse-men (you know, child) the sun,
How after his journeys he sets up his rest :

If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run ;
At night he reclines on his Thetis's breast,

L 2

148 LOVE-SONGS.

So when I am wearied with wand'ring all day $
To thee my delight in the evening I come :

No matter what beauties I saw in my way ;

They were but my visits, but thou art my home,

Then finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war ;

And let us like Horace and Lydia agree :
For thou art a girl as much brighter than her,

As he was a poet sublimer than me.

SONG XXXII.

BY MISS AIKIN.*

WHEN gentle Celia first I knew,
A breast so good, so kind, so true,

Reason and taste approv'd ;
Pleas' d to indulge so pure a flame,
I call'd it by too soft a name,

And fondly thought I lov'd.

Till Chloris came, with sad surprise
I felt the lightning of her eyes

Through all my senses run :
All glowing with resistless charms,
She fill'd my breast with new alarms,

I saw, and was undone.

O Celia ! dear unhappy maid,
Forbear the weakness to upbraid,
Which ought your scorn to move >

* Now Mrs. Barbauld.

LOVE-SONGS. 149

I know this beauty false and vain,
I know she triumphs in my pain,
Yet still I feel I love.

Thy gentle smiles no more can please,
Nor can thy softest friendship ease

The torments I endure ;
Think what that wounded breast must feel,
Which truth and kindness cannot heal,

Nor e'en thy pity cure.

Oft shall I curse my iron chain,
And wish again thy milder reign

With long and vain regret ;
All that I can, to thee I give,
And could I still to reason live,

I were thy captive yet.

But passion's wild impetuous sea
Hurries me far from peace and thee,

'Twere vain to struggle more :
Thus the poor sailor slumbering lies,
While swelling tides around him rise,

And push his bark from shore.

In vain he spreads his helpless arms,
His pitying friends with fond alarms

In vain deplore his state j
Still far and farther from the coast,
On the high surge his bark is tost,

And foundering yields to fate.

150 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XXXIII.

BY JOHN BULTEEL*.

I GRANT, a thousand oaths I swore

I none would love but you :
But not to change would wrong me more,

Than breaking them can do.
Yet you thereby a truth will learn,

Of much more worth than I j
Which is, That lovers which do swear,

Do also use to lie.

Chloris does now possess that heart,

Which did to you belong :
But though thereof she brags awhile,

She shall not do so long.
She thinks, by being fair and kind,

To hinder my remove ,
And ne'er so much as dreams that change,

Above both those, I love.

Then grieve not any more, nor think

My change is a disgrace :
For though it robs you of one slave,

It leaves another's place,
Which your bright eyes will soon subdue

With him does them first see :
For if they could not conquer more,

They ne'er had conquer 'd me.

* [See note respecting this writer, in p. 133, supra.]

LOVE-SONGS. 151

SONG XXXIV.
THE CHRONICLE.

BY ABRAHAM COWLEY, ESGl.

MARGARITA first possess'd,

If I remember well, my breast $

Margarita first of all :
But when awhile the wanton maid
With my restless heart had play'd,

Martha took the flying ball.

Martha soon did it resign
To the beauteous Katherine :

Beauteous Katherine gave place
(Though loth and angry she to part
With the possession of my heart)

To Eliza's conquering face.

Eliza till this hour might reign,
Had she not evil counsels ta'en 5

Fundamental laws she broke,
And still new favourites she chose,
Till up in arms my passion rose,

And cast away her yoke.

Mary then, and gentle Anne,
Both to reign at once began j

Alternately they sway'd j
And sometimes Mary was the fair,
And sometimes Anne the crown did wear,

Sometimes 1 both obey'd.

152 LOVE-SONGS.

Another Mary then arose.
And did rigorous laws impose,

A mighty tyrant she !
Long, a 'as ! should I have been
Under that iron-scepter' d queen,

Had not Rebecca set me free.

When fair Rebecca set me free,
'Twas then a golden time with me j

But soon those pleasures fled :
For the gracious princess died
In her youth and beauty's pride,

And Judith reigned in her stead,

One month, three days, and half an hour,
Judith held the sovereign pow'r :

Wond'rous beautiful her face,
But so weak and small her wit,
That she to govern was unfit,

And so Susanna took her place

But when Isabella came
Arm'd with a resistless flame,

And th' artillery of her eye,
Whilst she proudly march' d about
Greater conquests to find out,

She beat out Susan, by the bye.

But in her place I then obey'd
Black-ey'd Bess, her viceroy maid,

To whom ensued a vacancy.
Thousand worse passions then possess' d
The inter-regnum of my breast :

Bless me from such an anarchy !

LOVE-SONGS. 153

Gentle Henrietta, than,

And a third Mary next began ;

Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria ;
And then a pretty Thomasine,
And then another Katherine,

And then a long et catera.

But should I now to you relate

The strength and riches of their state,

The powder, patches, and the pins j
The ribbands, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things

That make up all their magazines :

If I should tell the politic arts
To take and keep men's hearts,

The letters, embassies, and spies 5
The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries,
The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,

Numberless, nameless mysteries !

And all the little lime -twigs laid
By Machiavel, the waiting-maid -,

I more voluminous should grow
(Chiefly if I like them should tell
All change of weather that befel)

Than Hollinshed or Stow.

But I will briefer with them be,
Since few of them were long with me :

An higher and a nobler strain
My present emperess does claim,
Heleonora ! first o' th' name ;

Whom God grant long to reign !

154 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XXXV.

BY AMBROSE PHILLIPS, ESGl.

WHY we love, and why we hate,
Is not granted us to know j

Random chance, or wilful fate,

Guides the shaft from Cupid's bow.

If on me Zelinda frown,

Madness 'tis in me to grieve :

Since her will is not her own,
Why should I uneasy live ?

If I for Zelinda die,

Deaf to poor Mizella's cries,

Ask not me the reason why ?
Seek the riddle in the skies.

SONG XXXVI.*
CROSS PURPOSES.

TOM loves Mary passing well,

And Mary she loves Harry ;
But Harry sighs for bonny Bell,

And finds his love miscarry 5

* Au imitation of the sixth Idyllium of Mosclms. See the notes
to Fawkes's Translation.

LOVE-SONGS. 155

For bonny Bell for Thomas burns,

Whilst Mary slights his passion :
So strangely freakish are the turns

Of human inclination.

Mol gave Hal a wreath of flow'rs^

Which he, in amorous folly,
Consign' d to Bell, and in few hours

It came again to Molly :
Thus all by turns are woo'd and woo,

No turtles can be truer ;
Each loves the object they pursue,

But hates the kind pursuer.

As much as Mary Thomas grieves,

Proud Hal despises Mary j
And all the flouts which Bell receives

From Tom, she vents on Harry :
If one of all the four has frown'd,

You ne'er saw people glummer j
But if one smiles, it catches round,

And all are in good humour.

Then, lovers, hence this lesson learn,

Throughout the British nation ;
How much 'tis every one's concern

To smile a reformation :
And still, through life, this rule pursue,

Whatever objects strike you ; —
Be kind to them that fancy you,

That those you love may like you.

156 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XXXVII.
THE COUNTRY WEDDING.

* WELL met, pretty nymph, (says a jolly young swain,

* To a lovely young shepherdess crossing the plain j)

' Why so much in haste, (now the month it was May)

' Shall I venture to ask you, fair maiden, which way r'

Then straight to this question the nymph did reply,

With a smile in her look, and a leer on her eye,

' I came from the village, and homeward I go ;

' And now, gentle shepherd, pray why would you know

* I hope, pretty maid, you won't take it amiss,
' If I tell you the reason of asking you this j

' I would see you safe home, (the swain was in love)
e Of such a companion if you would approve.'

* Your offer, kind shepherd, is civil I own,

* But I see no great danger in going alone j
' Nor yet can I hinder, the road being free

* For one as another, for you as for me.'

* No danger in going alone, it is true,

' But yet a companion is pleasanter too ;

* And if you could like (now the swain he took heart)

* Such a sweetheart as me, why we never would part ?'
e O ! that's a long word, (said the shepherdess then ;)
' I've often heard say, there's no minding you men :

* You'll say and unsay, and you'll flatter, 'tis true j

r Then leave a young maiden the first thing you do.'

r O ! judge not so harshly, (the shepherd replied 5)
f To prove what I say, I will make you my bride ;

LOVE-SONGS. 157

e To-morrow the parson, (well said, little swain)

' Shall join both our hands, and make one of us twain.'

Then what the nymph answer 'd to this, is not said j

The very next morn to be sure they were wed.

Sing hey diddle, ho diddle, hey diddle-down ;

Now when shall we see such a wedding in town.

SONG XXXVIII.
HUMPHREY GUBBINS' COURTSHIP.*

A COURTING I went to my love,

Who is sweeter than roses in May ;
And when I came to her, by Jove,

The devil a word could I say.
I walk'd with her into the garden,

There fully intending to woo her ;
But may I be ne'er worth a farthing,

If of love I said any thing to her.

I clasp' d her hand close to my breast,

While my heart was as light as a feather -,
Yet nothing I said, I protest,

But — ' Madam, 'tis very fine weather!'
To an arbour I did her attend,

She ask'd me to come and sit by her ;
I crept to the furthermost end, —

For I was afraid to come nigh her.

* Humphrey Gubbins is a clownish character, in Steele's ' Tender
Husband,' in which this song may have been originally sung. One
of the thoughts, however, is from the * Old Bachelor' of Congreve.

158 LOVE-SONGS.

I ask'd her e which way was the wind ?'

(For I thought in some talk we must enter :)
( Why, sir, (she me answer'd, and grinn'd)

f Have you just sent your wits for a venture ?'
Then I follow' d her into the house,

There I vow'd I my passion would try j
But there I was still as a mouse :-—

Oh ! what a dull booby am 1 1

SONG XXXIX.
THE DESPAIRING LOVER.

BY WILLIAM WALSH, EStt.

DISTRACTED with care,
For Phillis the fair ;
Since nothing could move her,
Poor Damon, her lover,
Resolves in despair
No longer to languish,
Nor bear so much anguish ;
But, mad with his love,
To a precipice goes ;
Where, a leap from above
Would soon finish his woes.

When in rage he came there,
Beholding how steep
The sides did appear,
And the bottom how deep >

LOVE-SONGS. 159

His torments projecting,

And sadly reflecting,

That a lover forsaken

A new love may get ,

But a neck, when once broken,

Can never be set :

And, that he could die
Whenever he would j
But, that he could live
But as long as he could :
How grievous soever
The torment might grow,
He scorn' d to endeavour
To finish it so.
But bold, unconcern' d
At thoughts of the pain, —
He calmly return' d
To his cottage again.

SONG XL.

MY name is honest Harry,

And I love little Mary,
In spite of Ciss, or jealous Bess,

I'll have my own vagary.

My love is blithe and buxom,
And sweet arid fine as can be,

Fresh and gay as the flow'rs in May,
And looks like Jack-a-Dandy.

160 LOVE-SONGS.

And if she will not have me,

That am so true a lover,
I'll drink my wine, and ne'er repine,

And down the stairs I'll shove her.

But if that she will love, sir,
I'll be as kind as may be ;

I'll give her rings, and pretty things,
And deck her like a lady.

Her petticoat of sattin,

Her gown of crimson tabby,

Lac'd up before, and spangled o'er,
Just like a Bartholomew baby.

Her waistcoat shall be scarlet,
With ribbands tied together y

Her stockings of a cloudy blue,
And her shoes of Spanish leather.

Her smock of finest holland,
And lac'd in every quarter,

Side and wide, and long enough
To hang below her garter.

Then to the church I'll have her,
Where we will wed together,

And so come home when we have done.
In spite of wind and weather.

The fiddlers shall attend us,

And first play ' John come kiss me ;'
And when that we have danc'd around,

Then strike up, < Hit or miss me/

LOVE-SONGS. 161

Then hey for little Mary,

'Tis she I love alone, sir j
Let any man do what he can,

I will have her, or none, sir. O.

SONG XLI.
A NEW SONG OF OLD SIMILES.

BY MR. GAY ?

MY passion is as mustard strong j

I sit all sober sad j
Drunk as a piper all day long 5

Or like a March hare mad.

Round as a hoop the bumpers flow :
I drink, yet can't forget her :

For though as drunk as David's sow,
I love her still the better.

Pert as a pearmonger I'd be,
If Molly were but kind j

Cool as a cucumber, could see
The rest of womankind.

Like a stuck pig I gaping stare,
And eye her o'er and o'er y

Lean as a rake with sighs and care
Sleek as a mouse before :

VOL. I. M

162 LOVE-SONGS.

Plump as a partridge was I known,

And soft as silk my skin ;
My cheeks as fat as butter grown,

But as a groat now thin.

I, melancholy as a cat,

Am kept awake to weep ;
But she, insensible of that,

Sound as a top can sleep,

Hard is her heart as flint or stone,
She laughs to see me pale j

And merry as a grig is grown,
And brisk as bottled ale.

The god of love at her approach,

Is busy as a bee ;
Hearts sound as any bell or roach

Are smit, and sigh like me.

Ah me ! as thick as hops or hail,
The fine men crowd about her j

But soon as dead as a door-nail
Shall I be, if without her.

Strait as my leg her shape appears 5
Oh ! were we joined together,

My heart would soon be free from cares,
And lighter than a feather.

As fine as five-pence is her mien,
No drum was ever tightei :

Her glance is as a razor keen,
And not the sun is brighter.

LOVE-SONGS. 163

As soft as pap her kisses are,

Methinks I feel them yet 5
Brown as a berry is her hair,

Her eyes as black as jet.

As smooth as glass, as white as curds,

Her pretty hand invites j
Sharp as a needle are her words,

Her wit like pepper bites.

Brisk as a body-louse she trips j

Clean as a penny drest ;
Sweet as a rose her face and lips ;

Round as a globe her breast.

Full as an egg was I with glee,

And happy as a king ;
Good lack ! how all men envied me j

She lov'd like any thing.

But false as hell, she, like the wind,

Chang' d as her sex must do j
Though seeming as the turtle kind,

And as the gospel true.

r1

If I and Molly could agree,

Let who will take Peru 5
Great as an emperor I should be>

And richer than a Jew.

Till you grow tender as a chick,

I'm dull as any post ;
Let us like burrs together stick,

As warm as any toast.
MS

164 LOVE-SONGS.

You'll know me truer than a die,

And wish me better sped ;
Flat as a flounder when I lie,

And as a herring dead.

Sure as a gun she'll drop a tear,

And sigh perhaps and wish,
When I am rotten as a pear,

And mute as any fish.

SONG XLII.

A COBLER there was, and he liv'd in a stall,
Which serv'd him for parlour, for kitchen, and hall,
No coin in his pocket, nor care in his pate,
No ambition had he, nor duns at his gate ;
Berry down, down, down, deny down,

Contented he work'd, and he thought himself happy,
If at night he could purchase a jug of brown nappy :
How he'd laugh then, and whistle, and sing too most

sweet,

Saying, just to a hair I have made both ends meet :
Deny down, down, &c.

But love, the disturber of high and of low,
That shoots at the peasant as well as the beau ;
He shot the poor cobler quite thorough the heart :
I wish he had hit some more ignoble part.
Derry down, down, &c.

It was from a cellar this archer did play,
Where a buxom young damsel continually lay ;

LOVE-SONGS. 165

Her eyes shone so bright when she rose ev'ry day,
That she shot the poor cobler quite over the way :
Derry down, down, &c.

He sung her love-songs as he sat at his work,
But she was as hard as a Jew or a Turk :
Whenever he spake, she would flounce and would fleer,
Which put the poor cobler quite into despair :
Derry down, down, &c.

He took up his awl that he had in the world,
And to make away with himself was resolv'd ;
He pierc'd through his body instead of the sole,
So the cobler he died, and the bell it did toll.
Derry down, down, &c.

And now in good-will I advise as a friend,
All coblers take warning by this cobler' s end :
Keep your hearts out of love, for we find by what's past,
That love brings us all to an end at the last.
Derry down, down, &c.

SONG XLIII.

BY JOHN HARRINGTON, ESft.*

WHENCE comes my love ? — O heart ! disclose :
'Twas from cheeks that shame the rose,

* [Dr. Aikin has introduced this song in his * Vocal Poetry,'
as the production of Sir John Harrington, and as a specimen of the
elegant simplicity which characterised the poetry of the age of
Elizabeth or James I. But the Doctor does not appear to have ob-

166 LOVE-SONGS.

From lips that spoil the ruby's praise,
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze.
Whence comes jny woe, as freely own :—
Ah me ! 'twas from a heart like stone.

The blushing cheek speaks modest mind ;
The lips, befitting words most kind ;
The eye does tempt to love's desire,
And seems to say— -'tis Cupid's fire !
Yet all so fair, but speak my moan,
Sith nought doth say the heart of stone.

Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak
Sweet lip, sweet eye, sweet blushing cheek
Yet not a heart to save my pain ? —
O Venus ! take thy gifts again :
Make not so fair, to cause our moan,
Or make a heart that's like our own.

SONG XLIV.*

BY BEN JONSON.

STILL to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast 5

served that, in the Rugte Antique, edit. 1804, the above polished
poem was, with much probability, referred to the period of Edward
\I. and that the author of it was not likely to be Sir John Har-
rington, but his father.]

t [From the comedy of * Epicasne, or The Silent Woman :'
first acted in 1609, and revived by Mr.Colman in 1776.]

LOVE-SONGS. 167

Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd ;
Lady ! it is to be presum'd,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet,, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face,

That makes simplicity a grace ;

Robes loosely flowing, hair as free ;

Such sweet neglect more taketh me

Than all th' adulteries of art j

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

SONG XLV.*

BY THE SAME.

THOUGH I am young, and cannot tell
Either what Death or Love is, well j
Yet I have heard they both bear darts,
And both do aim at human hearts :
And then again I have been told —
Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold :
So that I fear, they do but bring
Extremes to touch, and mean one thing.

As in a ruin, we it call
One thing — to be blown up or fall 5
Or to our end like way may have,
By flash of lightning or a wave :

* [From the pastoral fragment of < The Sad Shepherd, or a Tale
of Robin Hood ;' so ingeniously carried on to completion by Mr.
Waldron, and printed in 1783, with a copious and curious appendix.]

168 LOVE-SONGS.

So Love's inflamed shaft, or brand,
May kill as soon as Death's cold hand
Except Love's fires the virtue have
To fright the frost out of the grave.

SONG XLVI.

REMEMBER me, while far away,

I wander through the world's wide waste ;
Remember me, at early day,

And when the evening shadows haste :
When high the silver moon appears,

And night, with all her sable train,
Gives rest to human hopes and fears ;

Remember, I alone complain .

Remember me, whene'er you sigh,

Be it at midnight's silent hour,
Remember me, and think that I

Return your sigh, and feel its pow'r.
Whene'er you think on those away,

And when you bend the pious knee,
And when your thoughts to pleasures stray,

Ah ! then, dear maid, remember me !

SONG XLVIT.

%

MARY ! I believ'd thee true,

And I was blest in thus believing ;

But now I mourn that e'er I knew
A girl so fair, and so deceiving.

LOVE-SONGS. 169

Few have ever lov'd like me,

Oh ! I have lov'd thee too sincerely ;

And few have e'er deceiv'd like thee,
Alas ! deceiv'd me too severely.
Fare thee well, fare thee well !

Fare thee well ! yet think awhile

On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee ;
Who now would rather trust that smile,

And die with thee — than live without thee.
Fare thee well ! — I'll think of thee 5

Thou leav'st me many a bitter token j
For see, distracting woman, see

My peace is gone, my heart is broken.
Fare thee well, fare thee well !

SONG XLVIII.

BY MRS. OPIE.

SWEET maid ! I hear thy frequent sigh,
And mourn to see thy languid eye :
For well I know these symptoms prove
Thy heart a prey to secret love.
But though so hard a fate be thine,
Think not thy grief can equal mine :
Hope may thy vanish' d bloom restore —
I sigh for him — who lives no more !

Thou in existence still can'st find
A charm to captivate thy mind,

170 LOVE-SONGS.

To make the morning ray delight,
And gild the gloomy brow of night.
But Nature's charms to me are fled j
I nought behold but Henry dead :
What can my love of life restore ? —
I sigh for him — who lives no more !

SONG XLIX.*

1 KNOW you false, I know you vain,
Yet still I cannot break my chain :
Though with those lips so sweetly smiling,
Those eyes so bright and so beguiling,
On every youth by turns you smile,
And every youth by turns beguile j
Yet still enchant and still deceive me,
Do all things, fatal fair, but leave me !

Still let me in those speaking eyes,

Trace all your feelings as they rise,

Still from those lips, like rose-buds swelling,

That seem of soft delight the dwelling,

Catch tones of sweetness which the soul

In fetters ever new controul j

Nor let my starts of anguish grieve thee,

Though death to stay, 'twere death to leave thee !

* [From the ' Animal Anthology' published in 1799 and 1800 : a
collection of original minor poems, contributed by writers of dis-
tinguished talent, and suited to every poetical taste by diversity of
style and subject. Mr. Southey was the reputed editor.]

LOVE-SONGS. 171

SONG L.
THE WARNING.

BY MR. P. L. COURTIER*.

IT was to smiles I did surrender :
If frowns that smiling face deform,

Proud is rny heart, however tender,
Thy coldness will not keep it warm.

She who mistakes not her dominion,
But knows the temper of the soul,

Content to govern by opinion,
Disdains the meanness of controul.

Thanks to thy arts ! — too weak to cover
The ends thy wishes would devise,

Though yet thy charms may blind a lover,
Soon will thy conduct make him wise.

SONG LI.

BY THE SAMEf.

FORGIVE me, if I do not trust

Those eyes of tender blue !
For she was to my hopes unjust,

Who look'd as sweetly true.

* From Vol. 2, of Miscellaneous Poems, published in 1805.
t In the * Lyre of Love,' a selection of amatory poesy from the
time of Lord Surrey to that of publication, in 1806,

172 LOVE-SONGS.

Forgive, if caution now denies,
The heart's responsive swell !

For hollow were her deepest sighs
Whom I believ'd so well.

SONG LII.
TO PHYLLIS.

BY THE SAME.

ONCE, and thine alone I blame,
Phyllis ! thy fair wiles believing,

Caught by Love's perfidious flame,
Love and thee I found deceiving.

Me no more canst thou inspire,
Never to my arms returning :

He who once has felt the fire,

Needs must dread a second burning

SONG LIU.

BY THE SAME.

I wonder if her heart be still

The same that once I fondly met !
Will she her plighted faith forget ?

Or now my dearest hopes fulfill ?

I fear to pen the wish'd request,

To ask if all within be so ?

I almost dread the truth to know :
So changeful seems the human breast !

LOVE-SONGS. 17*

SONG LTV.
THE REPROVED LOVER.

BY WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ..

The lover, in melodious verses,
His singular distress rehearses ;
Still closing with the rueful cry,
" Was ever such a wretch as I ?" —

Yes ! thousands have endur'd before
All thy distress j some, haply, more.
Unnumber'd Corydons complain,
And Strephons, of the like disdain :

And if thy Chloe be of steel,
Too deaf to hear, too hard to feel ;
Not her alone that censure fits,
Nor thou alone hast lost thy wits.

SONG LV.
MERCENARY LOVE.

BY HENRY CARTER, ESft.

BOAST not to me the charms that grace
The finest form, or fairest face ;
Shape, bloom, and feature I despise j
Wealth, wealth is beauty — to the wise.

Come then, my Croesa, fill my arms,
With all thy various store of charms j
Charms that of time defy the rage,
And laugh at wrinkles, and old age.

174 LOVE-SONGS.

Come then, oh ! come 5 and with thee bring
The thousand joys from wealth that spring j
Oh ! bring the deeds of thy estate,
Thy quit-rents, mortgages, and plate.

Still keep, unseen, those auburn locks,
And yield thy treasures — in the stocks $
Oh ! hide that soft, that snowy breast ;
And give, instead, thy iron chest.

Thy guineas shame the blushing rose,
Which in those cheeks, unheeded, blows j
Too sweet for me that ruby lip,
Give me thy India-bonds and scrip.

Can aught with those bright eyes compare ?
Thy diamonds, nymph, still brighter are.
Can aught those pearly teeth excel ?
Thy pearls themselves please me as well.

Say, dost thou boast that beauteous arm :
Its bracelet boasts a richer charm ;
Those fingers too are lovely things,
But lovelier far, their brilliant rings.

My passion, Nymph, brooks no delay
For charms which never feel decay $
Charms which will mock thy fleeting breath,
And yield their raptures — after death.

LOVE-SONGS. 175

SONG LVI.

BY MR. E. A. BRAY*.

AH ! credit not the rival swain

Who whispers in thy jealous ear,
That other maids my vows obtain,

And call my passion insincere.

I own, dear maid, I love to seek

The plain where sport the virgin choir ;

And oft the form, the blushing cheek,
The charms of many a fair admire.

But though each love-inspiring dame
My eye with earnest gaze surveys,

Ah ! cease, my love, thy swain to blame,
Because he gives each beauty praise.

By blending every virgin's grace,

A something like thyself I see :
For all the charms of every face

Are surely, Celia, found in thee !

SONG LVII.

BY THE SAME.

THOUGH, Celia, on the flow'ry mead
With thee the sportive dance I lead,
View not the virgins with disdain
Who for a partner sigh in vain.

From poems of much merit and interest, published in 1799.

176 LOVE-SONGS.

Though oft, with truth, you hear me swear
Your eyes are bright, your face is fair ;
Oh ! think not Love has thrown his dart,
And pierc'd for thee my thrilling heart.

For I from fair to fair resort,
And pay to each my am'rous court,
In hopes at last a maid to find,
The best, the fairest of her kind.

Thus from the hive the insect flies,
And soars o'er flow'rs of thousand dyes ;
But when the sweetest strikes his view,
He shuts his wings and sips its dew.

CLASS IV.— SONG I.

BY SIR CHARLES SEDLEY*.

As Amoret with Phillis sat

One evening on the plain,
And saw the charming Strephon wait

To tell the nymph his pain :

The threatening danger to remove,

She whisper 'd in her ear,
' Ah ! Phillis,, if you would not love,

' This shepherd do not hear.'

* In Sir George Etherege's comedy of < The Man of Mode.'
[Mr. Nichols, in his collection of poems, gives this < from the
French of Madame de la Suze,' by Sir Car Scroope.j

VOL. I.

178 LOVE-SONGS.

' None ever had so strange an art

f His passion to convey
' Into a list'ning virgin's heart,

e And steal her soul away.

' Fly, fly betimes, for fear you give
' Occasion for your fate : ' —

' In vain, (said he) in vain I strive
' Alas ! 'tis now too late.'

SONG II.

BY SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE*.

WHEN Phillis watch'd her harmless sheep,

Not one poor lamb was made a prey ;
Yet she had cause enough to weep,

Her silly heart did go astray.
Then flying to the neighb'ring grove,
She left the tender flock to rove,
And to the winds did breathe her love.

She sought in vain

To ease her pain ;
The heedless winds did fan her fire :

Venting her grief

Gave no relief,
But rather did increase desire.

Then sitting with her arms across,
Hej- sorrows streaming from each eye j

She fix'd her thoughts upon her loss,
And in despair resolv'd to die.

* In the comedy of ' Love in a Tub.'

LOVE-SONGS. 179

SONG III.

BY SIR RICHARD STEELE. *

FROM place to place forlorn I go,
With downcast eyes, a silent shade ;

Forbidden to declare my woe ;
To speak, till spoken to, afraid.

My inward pangs, my secret grief,

My soft consenting looks betray ;
He loves, but gives me no relief 3

Why speaks not he who may ?

SONG IV.

BY LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE.

DEAR Colin, prevent my warm blushes,

Since how can 1 speak without pain ;
My eyes have oft told you my wishes, i- ^

Oh ! can't you their meaning explain ?
My passion would lose by expression,

And you too might cruelly blame 5
Then don't you expect a confession

Of what is too tender to name.

Since yours is the province of speaking,
Why should you expect it from me ?

Our wishes should be in our keeping,
'Till you tell us what they should be :

* In the comedy of * The Conscious Lovers.'
N 2

180 LOVE-SONGS.

Then quickly why don't you discover ?

Did your heart feel such tortures as mine,
I need not tell over and over,

What I in my bosom confine*.

SONG V.
CHLOE'S SOLILOQUY.

IF love and reason ne'er agree,
And virtue trembles at his power,

May heaven from love pronounce me free,
And guard me through each tender hour.

But if the pleasures love bestows
Are such as reason pleas' d allows,

Are such as smiling virtue knows,
To love I'll pay my virgin vows.

And such they are — for loose desires

But ill deserve the tender name j
They blast, like lightning's transient fires,

But love's a pure and constant flame.

Love scorns a sordid selfish bliss,

And only for its object lives ;
Feels mutual truth endear the kiss,

And tastes no joys but those it gives.

* Her ladyship was wittily answered by Sir William Yonge ; but
his verses could not be inserted here with propnety. [Lady M. W.
Montague, in a letter to her daughter, the Counters of Bute, states
that the above poem was handed about as the supposed address of
Lady Hertford to Lord Wm. Hamilton, and that she herself wrote
the verses attributed to Sir Wm. Yonge, which Ritsou deemed it
proper not to insert.]

LOVE-SONGS. 181

Love's more than language can reveal,

Or thought can reach, though thought is free ;

'Tis only felt — 'tis what I feel —
And hope that Damon feels for me.

SONG VI.

AH ! why must words my flame reveal
Why needs my Damon bid me tell,

What all my actions prove ?
A blush whene'er I meet his eye,
Whene'er I hear his name, a sigh

Betrays my secret love.

In all the sports upon the plain
Mine eyes still fix'd on him remain,

And him alone approve ;
The rest unheeded dance or play,
From all he steals my praise away,

And can he doubt my love ?

Whene'er we meet, my looks confess
The joys that all my soul possess,

And every care remove ;
Still, still too short appears his stay,
The moments fly too fast away,

Too fast for my fond love.

Does any speak in Damon's praise,
So pleas' d am I with all he says,
I every word approve j

182 LOVE-SONGS.

But is he blam'd, although in jest,
I feel resentment fire my breast,
Alas ! because I love.

But ah ! what tortures tear my heart,
When I suspect his looks impart

The least desire to rove !
I hate the maid that gives me pain,
Yet him to hate I strive in vain,

For ah ! that hate is love.

Then ask not words, but read mine eyes,
Believe my blushes, trust my sighs,

My passion these will prove j
Words oft deceive and spring from art,
The true expressions of my heart

To Damon, must be love !

SONG VII.

BY

IF Cupid once the mind possess,

All low affections cease }
No troubles then can give distress,

No tumult break the peace.
Oh ! had I thousand gifts in store,

Where I of worlds the queen,
For him I'd covet thousands more,

And call profusion mean.

* In « The Rehearsal, or Bayes in Petticoats f by Mrs. Clive.
See p. 99.

LOVE-SONGS. 183

Then let my swain my love return,

And equal raptures feel j
Nor let his passions cool, or burn,

As Fortune winds her wheel.
If his fond heart I may believe

Immutably secure j
No sorrow then can make me grieve,

No loss can make me poor.

SONG VIII.

BY MRS. WHARTON*.

How hardly I conceal' d my tears,

How oft did I complain,
When many tedious days my fears

Told me I lov'd in vain.

But^now iriy joys as wild are grown,

And hard to be conceal' d -,
Sorrow may make a silent moan,

But joy will be reveal'd.

I tell it to the bleating flocks,

To every stream and tree,
And bless the hollow murmuring rocks

For echoing back to me.

* First wife of that notorious Machiavelian, Thomas (afterwards)
Marquis of Wharton. [His second wife was also poetical. See
Noble Authors, iv. 2.]

184 LOVE-SONGS.

Thus you may see with how much joy
We want, we wish, believe ;

'Tis hard such passion to destroy,
But easy to deceive.

SONG IX.

BOAST not, mistaken swain, thy art

To please my partial eyes ;
The charms that have subdued my heart

Another may despise.

Thy face is to my humour made,

Another it may fright ;
Perhaps by some fond whim betray 'd

In oddness I delight.

Vain youth, to your confusion know,

'Tis to my love's excess
You all your fancied beauties owe,

Which fade as that grows less.

For your own sake, if not for mine,
You should preserve my fire $

Since you, my swain, no more will shine,
When I no more admire.

By me indeed you are allow'd

The wonder of your kind ;
But be not of my judgment proud

Whom love has render'd blind.

LOVE-SONGS. 185

SONG X.
CHLOE TO STREPHON.

BY SOAME JENYNS, ES€t.

Too plain, dear youth, these tell-tale eyes

My heart your own declare ;
But for heaven's sake, let it suffice,

You reign triumphant there.

Forbear your utmost power to try,

Nor farther urge your sway j
Press not for what I must deny,

For fear I should obey.

Could all your arts successful prove,

Would you a maid undo ?
Whose greatest failing is her love,

And that her love for you.

Say would you use that very pow'r

You from her fondness claim,
To ruin, in one fatal hour,

A life of spotless feme ?

Ah ! cease, my dear, to do an ill,

Because perhaps you may ;
But rather try your utmost skill

To save me, than betray.

186 LOVE-SONGS.

Be you yourself my virtue's guard,
Defend, and not pursue j

Since 'tis a task for me too hard,
To strive with love and you.

SONG XI.

BY MRS. BEHN*.

AH false Amyntas ! can that hour

So soon forgotten be,
When first I yielded up my pow'r,

To be betray 'd by thee >

God knows with how much innocence

I did my heart resign,
Unto thy faithless eloquence,

And gave thee what was mine.

I had not one reserve in store,

But at thy feet I laid
Those arms which conquer 'd heretofore t

Though now thy trophies made.

Thy eyes in silence told their tale

Of love in such a way,
That 'twas as easy to prevail,

As after to betray.

* In the comedy of ' The Dutch Lover/

LOVE-SONGS. 187

SONG XII.

BY MR. EDWARD MOORE*.

WHEN Damon languish' d at my feet,
• r And I belie v'd him true ;
The moments of delight how sweet !

But ah ! how swift they flew !
The sunny hill, the flowery vale,

The garden and the grove,
Have echo'd to his ardent tale,

And vows of endless love.

The conquest gain'd, he left his prize,

He left her to complain j
To talk of joy with weeping eyes,

And measure time by pain :
But Heaven will take the mourner's part,

In pity to despair j
And the last sigh that rends the heart,

Shall waft the spirit there.

SONG XIII.
THE LASS OF THE HILL.

BY MISS MARY JONES.

ON the brow of a hill a young shepherdess dwelt,
Who no pangs of ambition or love had e'er felt :

* In the tragedy of « The Gamester.'

188 LOVE-SONGS,

For a few sober maxims still ran in her head,
That 'twas better to earn, ere she eat her brown bread :
That to rise with the lark was conducive to health,
And, to folks in a cottage, contentment was wealth.

Now young Roger, who liv'd in the valley below,
Who at church and at market was reckon' d a beau ;
Had many times tried o'er her heart to prevail,
And would rest on his pitchfork to tell her his tale :
With his winning behaviour he melted her heart j
But, quite artless herself, she suspected no art.

He had sigh'd and protested, had kneel'd and implor'd,
And could lie with the grandeur and air of a lord :
Then her eyes he commended in language well drest,
And enlarg'd on the torments that troubled his breast j
'Till his sighs and his tears had so wrought on her mind,
That in downright compassion to love she inclin'd.

But as soon as he'd melted the ice of her breast,
All the flames of his love in a moment decreas'd ;
And at noon he goes flaunting all over the vale,
Where he boasts of his conquest to Susan and Nell :
Though he sees her but seldom, he's always in haste,
And if ever he mentions her, makes her his jest.

All the day she goes sighing, and hanging her head,
And her thoughts are so pester 'd, she scarce earns her

bread 5

The whole village cry shame, when a milking she goes,
That so little affection is show'd to the cows :
But she heeds not their railing, e'en let them rail on,
And a fig for the cows, now her sweetheart is gone.

LOVE-SONGS. 189

Now beware, ye young virgins of Britain's gay isle,

How ye yield up your hearts to a look or a smile :

For Cupid is artful, and virgins are frail,

And you'll find a false Roger in every vale,

Who to court you and tempt you will try all his skill ;

But remember the lass on the brow of the hill.

SONG XIV.

BY DR. GOLDSMITH.

WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,

What charm can soothe her melancholy ?
What art can wash her guilt away ?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,

To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom is — to die.

SONG XV.*

YE virgin pow'rs, defend my heart

From am'rous looks and smiles ;
From saucy love, or nicer art,

Which most our sex beguiles :

* [Mrs. Taylor is named as author of this song by Mr. Alexander
Dairy raple. See p. 106 of his selection, printed in 1796*]

190 LOVE-SONGS.

From sighs and vows, from awful fears,

That do to pity move j
From speaking silence, and from tears,

Those springs that water love.

But if through passion I grow blind,

Let honour be my guide }
And where frail nature seems inclin'd,

There fix a guard of pride.

'Tis fit the price of heav'n be pure,

And worthy of its aid j *
For those that think themselves secure,

The soonest are betray'd. O.

SONG XVI.

BY my sighs you may discover
What soft wishes touch my heart -,

Eyes can speak and tell the lover,
What the tongue must not impart.

Blushing shame forbids revealing

Thoughts, your breast may disapprove j

But 'tis hard and past concealing,
When we truly fondly love.

* [These two lines were thus given by Mr. Dalrytnple :
A heart whose flames are seen, though pure,
Needs every virtue's aid.]

LOVE-SONGS. 191

SONG XVII.

BY MR. MENDEZ*.

VAIN is ev'ry fond endeavour

To resist the tender dart j
For examples move us never,

We must feel, to know the smart.
When the shepherd swears he's dying,

And our beauties sets to view $
Vanity, her aid supplying,

Bids us think it all our due.

Softer than the vernal breezes

Is the mild deceitful strain 5
Frowning truth our sex displeases,

Flatt'ry never sues in vain.
Soon, too soon, the happy lover

Does our tend'rest hopes deceive j
Man was form'd to be a rover,

Foolish woman to believe.

SONG XVIII.

BY SHAKSPEARE.f

SIGH no more, ladies, sigh no more j

Men were deceivers ever j
One foot at sea, and one on shore,

To one thing constant never.

* In the musical entertainment of ' The Chaplet.'
t In the comedy of ' Much ado about Nothing.*

192 LOVE-SONGS.

Then sigh not so,

But let them go.,
And be you blithe and bonny j
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo
Of dumps so dull and heavy •

The frauds of men were ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.
Then sigh not so, &c.

SONG XIX.

IN vain, Philander, at my feet
You urge your guilty flame j
With well-dissembled tears intreat,
New oaths and impious vows repeat,
And wrong love's sacred name.

Ah ! cease to call that passion love,

Whose end is to betray -,
Too soon, should I comply, you'd prove
What sensual views your ardour move,

And your affection sway.

And when, to all my fondness blind,
You'd chase me from your breast j
Deluded wretch ! when could I find
That calm content, that peace of mind,
Which I before possess' d.

LOVE-SONGS, 193

SONG XX.

THE MAIDEN'S WISH.

\
DEFEND my heart, benignant Pow'r !

From amorous looks and smiles.
And shield me in my gayer hour.

From love's destructive wiles.
In vain let sighs and melting tears

Employ their moving art j
Nor may delusive oaths and pray'rs

E'er triumph in my heart.

My calm content and virtuous joys

May envy ne'er molest -,
Nor let ambitious thoughts arise

Within my peaceful breast :
Yet may there, such a decent state,

Such unaffected pride,
As love and awe at once create,

My words and actions guide.

Let others, fond of empty praise,

Each wanton art display 5
While fops and fools in rapture gaze,

And sigh their souls away.
Far other dictates I pursue,

(My bliss in virtue plac'd,)
And seek to please the wiser few,

Who real worth can taste.

VOL. I.

194 LOVE-SONGS/

SONG XXI*.

BY BEN JONSON.

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine :
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise,

Doth ask a drink divine 5
But might I of Jove's nectar sip,

I would not change for thine.

I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath,

Not so much honouring thee,
At giving it a hope, that there

It could not withered be :
But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent'st it back to me j
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

Not of itself, but thee !

SONG XXII.
THE SLIGHTED MAIDEN.

BY MISS C.

THE tears I shed must ever fall,
I mourn not for an absent swain j

For thoughts may past delights recall,
And parted lovers meet again.

* [This was printed by Ritson in his Historical Essay, but seems
to claim insertion here, as the music is now added in vol. iii.J

LOVE-SONGS. 195

I weep not for the silent dead,
Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er ;

And those they lov'd their steps shall tread,
And death shall join, to part no more.

Though boundless oceans roll'd between,

If certain that his heart is near,
A conscious transport glads each scene,

Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear.
E'en when by Death's cold hand remov'd,

We mourn the tenant of the tomb j
To think that e'en in death he lov'd,

Can gild the horrors of the gloom.

But bitter, bitter are the tears

Of her who slighted love bewails ;
No hope her dreary prospect cheers,

No pleasing melancholy hails.
Her's are the pangs of wounded pride,

Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy 5
The flatt'ring veil is rent aside,

The flame of love burns to destroy.

In vain does memory renew

The hours once ting'd in transport's dye ;
The sad reverse soon starts to view,

And turns the past to agony.
E'en time itself despairs to cure

Those pangs to ev'ry feeling due ;
Ungenerous youth ! thy boast how poor !

To win a heart — and break it too*.

* [This pathetic song first appeared in the * Metrical Miscel-
laiiy.']

O 2

196 LOVE-SONGS;

No cold approach, no alter 'd mien,
; ' Just what would make suspicion start,
, No pause the dire extremes between j

He made me blest and broke my heart.
From hope, the wretch's anchor, torn,

, Neglected and neglecting all,
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn,
The tears I shed must ever fall.

SONG XXIII.

BY MR. DIBDIN, SENIOR.

IF 'tis love to wish you near,

To tremble when the wind I hear,

Because at sea you floating rove :
If of you to dream at night,
To languish when you're out of sight,

If this be loving — then I love.

If when you're gone, to count each hour,
To ask of the all-ruling Pow'r,

That you may kind and faithful prove :
If void of falsehood and deceit,
I feel a pleasure now we meet,

If this be loving — then I love.

To wish your fortune to partake,
Determin'd never to forsake,

Though low in poverty we strove j
If so that me your wife you'd call,
I offer you my little all 5

If this be loving — then I love.

LOVE-SONGS. 107

SONG XXIV.
HENRY.

In answer to Dr. Percy's ballad of c Nancy*

OH, Henry ! didst thou know the heart

That heaves for thee the constant sigh $
Thou would'st not ask, if aught could part

So tender, yet so firm a tie.
With thee the cot would prove a court,

The russet gown a garment rare 5
And pleas'd I'd quit the gay resort

That hail'd me fairest of the fair.

Oh, Henry ! lead the toilsome way,

And love will bear me through the wild ;
I still could face the parching ray,

Nor heed the blast, if Henry smil'd.
But haply should the chilling storm,

Or blaze of noon this face impair ;
I'd weep, should'st thou regret the form

That once was fairest of the fair.

Can perils keen my purpose move,

Or fright me from my Henry's breast $
'Tis fear itself gives force to love,

And robs the absent maid of rest.
Should Henry suffer, while his bride

Nor eas'd his pain, nor sooth' d his care,
I'd hate those scenes of courtly pride

That held me fairest of the fair.

198 LOVE-SONGS.

But should not all my trembling toil

Thy precious life await to save j
I could not o'er thy sorrows smile,

I could not strew with flow'rs thy grave :
I'd lay me by thy clay-cold side,

Where grief would soon my heart-strings tear
Yet happier, that with thee I died,

Than bloom' d the fairest of the fair.

SONG XXV.

BY MR. EDWARD MOORE.

You tell me I'm handsome, I know not how true,
And easy, and chatty, and good-humour'd too ;
That my lips are as red as the rose-bud in June,
And my voice, like the nightingale's, sweetly in tune :
All this has been told me by twenty before,
But he that would win me, must flatter me more.

If beauty from virtue receive no supply,

Or prattle from prudence, how wanting am I !

My ease and good-humour short raptures will bring,

And my voice, like the nightingale's, know but a spring

For charms such as these then your praises give o'er,

To love me for life, you must love me for more.

Then talk not to me of a shape or an air,
For Chloe the wanton can rival me there :
'Tis virtue alone that makes beauty look gay,
And brightens good-humour, as sunshine the day j
For this if you love me, your flame may be true,
And I, in my turn, may be taught to love too.

LOVE-SONGS. 199

SONG XXVI.

/

THE IVY.

BY G. L. WAY, ESft.

How yonder ivy courts the oak,
And clasps it with a false embrace !

So I abide a wanton's yoke,

And yield me to a smiling face :

And both our deaths will prove, I guess,

The triumph of unthankfulness.

How fain the tree would swell its rind !

But, vainly trying, it decays 5
So fares it with my shackled mind,

So wastes the vigour of my days ;
And soon our deaths will prove, I guess,
The triumph of unthankfulness.

A lass, forlorn for lack of grace,

My kindly pity first did move ;
Arid in a little moment's space,

This pity did engender love :
And now my death must prove, I guess,
The triumph of unthankfulness.

For now she rules me with her look,
And round me winds her harlot chain j

Whilst by a strange enchantment struck,
My nobler will recoils in vain :

And soon my death will prove, I guess,

The triumph of unthankfulness

200 LOVE-SONGS.

But, had the oak denied its shade,
The weed had trail' d in dust below 5

And she, had I her suit gainsaid,

Might still have pin'd in want and woe :

Now, both our deaths will prove, I guess,

The triumph of unthankfulness.

SONG XXVII.

BY MRS. OPIE.

YES, Mary- Ann, I freely grant

The charms of Henry's eyes I see ;

But while I gaze, I something want —
I want those eyes to gaze on me.

And I allow in Henry's heart,

Not envy's self a fault can see :
Yet still I must one wish impart,—

I wish that heart to sigh for me.

SONG XXVIII.

BY JOHN FINLAY, ESft.*

I HEARD the evening linnet's voice, the woodland tufts

among,
Yet sweeter were the tender woes of Isabella's song !

* [The author of ' Wallace or the Vale of Ellerslie,' with other
poems, 1804, and the editor of * Scottish Historical and Romantic
Ballads,' 1808. He was highly estimated for poetical talents, clas-
sical acquirements, and antiquarian erudition, yet died at the'early age
of twenty-eight, in December, 1810. Non omnis moriarf]

LOVE-SONGS. 201

So soft into the ear they steal, so soft into the soul,
The deep'ning pain of love they soothe, and sorrow's
pang controul.

I look'd upon the pure brook that murmur 'd through the

glade,

And mingled in the melody that Isabella made :
Yet purer was the residence of Isabella's heart !
Above the reach of pride and guile, above the reach of

art.

I look'd upon the azure of the deep unclouded sky,
Yet clearer was the blue serene of Isabella's eye !
Ne'er softer fell the rain-drop of the first-relenting year,
Than falls from Isabella's eye the pity-melted tear.

All this my fancy prompted, ere a sigh of sorrow prov'd
How hopelessly, yet faithfully, and tenderly 1 lov'd !
Yet though bereft of hope I love, still will I love the

more,
As distance binds the exile's heart to his dear native

shore.

SONG XXIX.

BY MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH.

DOES Pity give, though fate denies,
And to my wounds her balm impart ?

O speak ! with those impressive eyes j
Let one low sigh escape thy heart !

202 LOVE-SONGS.

The gazing crowd shall never guess
What anxious, watchful love can see j

Nor know what those soft looks express,
Nor dream that sigh is meant for me.

Ah ! words are useless, words are vain,
Thy gen'rous sympathy to prove :

For well that sigh, those looks explain
That Clara mourns my hapless love.

SONG XXX.

BY DAVID CAREY, ESQ.. *

ERE Henry embark' d on the blue waves of ocean,

Inflam'd by vain day-dreams of wealth and renown,
He sunk on my breast, that beat high with emotion,

And said — while he kiss'd the salt tears that roll'd

down —
' O weep not, my Lucy ! although we must part,

' For we part but to meet in soft transports again,
e When the spring-time that wakes young delight in the
heart,

' Shall bring thy fond Henry along in its train.'

Already the wide-wasting tempests are over,

That blasted the year, and embroil' d the deep main,

The spring-time returns — yet returns not my lover,
And Lucy laments, but laments all in vain.

* [From Poems annexed to the ' Pleasures of Nature,' 1803.
Mr. Carey has also written the ' Reign of Fancy/ ' Visions of Sen-
•ibility/ and several other very ingenious poetical works.]

LOVE-SONGS. 203

' O Henry ! no more the cold blasts of the north

' Blow bleak from the mountains, and ravage our grove :

* But sweet 'neath the hawthorn the primrose peeps forth,

e And birds in the covert are telling their love.

' Then haste thee, dear youth ! from yon wide waste of

waters,
' And fly to our vale on the zephyr's swift wing,

* Where Flora o'er all the green carpet now scatters
c Her earliest sweets in the breezes of spring j

' Where nothing in nature my heart ever cheers,
f That thinks of my Henry, and flies from delight :

* O swift be thy speed, to dispel my dark fears,

* As the rising sun chases the shadows of night ! '

SONG XXXI.

(From Metastasio.)

BY MISS SEWARD*.

MILD breeze ! when thou shalt fan my fair,
Tell her a sigh augments thy gales 5

But to reveal the source forbear,

From whence thy gentle breath exhales.

Clear stream ! if thou her step shall meet,
Say with a tear thy currents swell 5

But do not to the nymph repeat
From whose enamour 'd lid it fell.

* [From vol. i. of the posthumous edition of h«r poems.]

204 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XXXII.
THE MAD MAIDEN'S SONG,

BY ROBERT HERRICK. *

GOOD-MORROW to the day so fair,
Good-morrow, Sir, to you !

Good-morrow to mine own torn hair
Bedabbled with the dew.

Good-morrow to this primrose too :
Good-morrow to each maid,

That will with flowers the tomb bestrew
Wherein my love is laid.

Ah, woe is me, woe woe is me !

Alack, and well-a-day !
For pity, Sir, find out that bee

Which bore my love away.

I'll seek him in your bonnet brave,

111 seek him in your eyes ;
Nay, now I think they've made his grave,

Pth' bed of strawberries.

* [The author of ' Hespcrides,' or poems, humane and divine,
1648 ; of whom an account is sjiven by Wood and Granger, and
more particularly by Mr. Nichols, in his comprehensive history of
Leicestershire. A selection from his works has been reprinted.]

LOVE-SONGS. 205

Pray hurt him not : — though he be dead,

He knows well who do love him ;
And who with green turfs rear his head,

And who do rudely move him.

He's soft and tender — pray take heed*—

With bands of cowslips bind him,
And bring him home : — but 'tis decreed

That I shall never find him.

SONG XXXIII.
TO THE EVENING-STAR.

BY JOHN LEYDEN, M. D.*

How sweet thy modest light to view
Fair star ! — to love and lovers dear j

While trembling on the falling dew,
Like beauty shining through the tear :

Or hanging o'er that mirror-stream
To mark each image trembling there,

Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam
To see thy lovely face so fair.

* [Dr. Leyden possessed a genius of the brightest order, which
united to ardent application, produced attainments of a most extra-
ordinary and multifarious kind : but he was taken off by a fever, in
the prime of life, at Fort Cornells in Batavia, whither he had accom-
panied Lord Minto, Aug. 27, 1811. These beautiful stanzas were
written before his departure to India in the spring of 1803.]

206 LOVE-SONGS.

Though, blazing o'er the arch of night,
The moon thy timid beams outshine

As far as thine each starry light —
Her rays can never vie with thine.

Thine are the soft enchanting hours
When twilight lingers on the plain,

And whispers to the closing flow' rs
That soon the sun will rise again.

Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland
As music, wafts the lover's sigh j

And bids the yielding heart expand
In lovers delicious ecstasy.

Fair star ! though I be doom'd ta prove
That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain ;

Ah ! still I feel 'tis sweet to love, —
But sweeter to be lov'd again.

LOVE-SONGS.

CLASS V.— SONG I.

BY BARTON BOOTH, ESQ..

SWEET are the charms of her I love.
More fragrant than the damask rose,

Soft as the down of turtle dove,
Gentle as air when Zephyr blows,

Refreshing as descending rains

To sun-burnt climes, and thirsty plains.

True as the needle to the pole,

Or as the dial to the sun ;
Constant as gliding waters roll,

Whose swelling tides obey the moon ;
From every other charmer free,
My life and love shall follow thee.

208 LOVE-SONGS.

The lamb the flowery thyme devours,
The dam the tender kid pursues j

Sweet Philomel, in shady bowers
Of verdant spring her note renews j

All follow what they most admire,

As I pursue my soul's desire.

Nature must change her beauteous face,,
And vary as the seasons rise -,

As winter to the spring gives place,
Summer th' approach of autumn flies :

No change on love the seasons bring,

Love only knows perpetual spring.

Devouring time, with stealing pace,
Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow j

And marble tow'rs, and gates of brass,
In his rude march he levels low :

But time, destroying far and wide,

Love from the soul can ne'er divide.

Death only, with his cruel dart,
The gentle godhead can remove j

And drive him from the bleeding heart
To mingle with the bless' d above,

Where, known to all his kindred train,

He finds a lasting rest from pain.

Love, and his sister fair, the soul,

Twin-born, from heav'n together came

Love will the universe controul,

When dying seasons lose their name j

Divine abodes shall own his pow'r,

When time and death shall be no more.

LOVE-SONGS. 209

SONG II.

BY THE REV. DR. PARNELL.

MY days have been so wond'rous free,

The little birds that fly
With careless ease from tree to tree,

Were but as bless 'd as I.

Ask gliding waters, if a tear

Of mine increas'd their stream ?
Or ask the flying gales, if e'er

I lent a sigh to them ?

But now my former days retire,

And I'm by beauty caught j
The tender chains of sweet desire

Are fix'd upon my thought.

An eager hope within my breast

Does every doubt controul 5
And lovely Nancy stands confest

The fav'rite of my soul.

Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines !

Ye swains that haunt the grove !
Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds !

Ye close retreats of love !

With all of nature, all of art,

Assist the dear design ;
O teach a young unpractis'd heart

To make her ever mine.

VOL. I.

210 LOVE-SONGS.

The very thought of change I hate,
As much as of despair j

Nor ever covet to be great.
Unless it be for her.

'Tis true, the passion in my mind
Is mix'd with soft distress ;

Yet while the fair I love is kind,
I cannot wish it less.

SONG III.

BY MRS. PILKINGTON.

STELLA, darling of the muses,
Fairer than the blooming spring 3

Sweetest theme the poet chooses,
When of thee he strives to sing.

While my soul with wonder traces
All thy charms of face and mind ;

All the beauties, all the graces
Of thy sex in thee I find.

Love, and joy, and admiration,
In my breast alternate rise ;

Words no more can paint my passion,
Than the pencil can thy eyes.

Lavish nature thee adorning,

O'er thy lips and cheeks hath spread

Colours that might shame the morning,
Smiling with celestial red.

LOVE-SONGS. 211

Would the gods, in blest condition,

Our requests indulgent view 5
Sure each mortal's first petition

Would be to resemble you.

SONG IV.

BY LORD LYTTELTON.*

WHEN Delia on the plain appears,
Aw'd by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ?

Whene'er she speaks, my ravish' d ear
No other voice but her's can hear 5
No other wit but her's approve :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ?

If she some other youth commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ?

When she is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleas'd before,
The clearest spring, the shadiest grove -.
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ?

When fond of power, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for every swain,
I strove to hate, but vainly strove :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ?
* < Written in the year 1732.'
P 2

212 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG V.

As he lay on the plain, his arm under his head,
And his flock feeding by, the fond Celadon said :
' If love's a sweet passion, why does it torment ?
' If a bitter (said he) whence are lovers content ?

f Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain j

' Or grieve at my fate, when I know 'tis in vain ?

' Yet so pleasing the pain is, so soft is the dart,

' That at once it both wounds me, and tickles my heart.

' To myself I sigh often, without knowing why ;

' And when absent from Phyllis, methinks I could die :

' But oh ! what a pleasure still follows my pain j

e When kind fortune does help me to see her again.

' In her eyes (the bright stars that foretel what's to come)
' By soft stealth now and then I examine my doom :
' I press her hand gently, look languishing down,
' And by passionate silence I make my love known.

' But oh ! how I'm blest when so kind she does prove,
' By some willing mistake to discover her love ;
' When in striving to hide, she reveals all her flame,
' And our eyes tell each other what neither dare name/

O.

LOVE-SONGS. 213

SONG VI.
THE CONVERT.

BY SHEFFIELD DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

DEJECTED as true converts die,

But yet with fervent thoughts inflam'd ;

So, fairest ! at your feet I lie,
Of all my sex's faults asham'd.

Too long, alas ! have I abus'd

Love's innocent and sacred flame,
And that divinest pow'r have us'd

To laugh at, as an idle name.

But since so freely I confess

A crime which may your scorn produce j
Allow me now to make it less,

By any just and fair excuse.

I then did vulgar joys pursue,

Variety was all my bliss j
But ignorant of love and you,

How could I choose but do amiss ?

If ever now my wand 'ring eyes

Search out amusements as before 5
If e'er I look, but to despise

Such charms, and value your's the more :

214 LOVE-SONGS.

May sad remorse,, and guilty shame,
Revenge your wrongs on faithless me ;

And, what I tremble ev'n to name,
May I lose all, in losing thee !

SONG VII.
THE RECOVERY.

BY THE SAME.

SIGHING and languishing I lay,
A stranger grown to all delight j

Passing in tedious thoughts the day,
And with unquiet dreams the night.

For your dear sake, my only care
Was how my fatal love to hide j

And ever drooping with despair,
Neglecting all the world beside.

'Till, like some angel from above,

Cornelia came to my relief,
And then I found the joys of love

Can make amends for all the grief.

Those pleasing hopes I now pursue
Might fail, if you could prove unjust ;

But promises from heav'n, and you,
Who is so impious to mistrust ?

LOVE-SONGS. 215

Here all my doubts, and troubles end j

One tender word my soul assures j
Nor am I vain, since I depend,

Not on my own desert, but your's.

SONG VIII.

BY SIR CHARLES .SEDLEY.

PHYLLIS, men say that all my vows

Are to thy fortune paid ;
Alas ! my heart he little knows

Who thinks my love a trade.
Were I of all these woods the lord,

One berry from thy hand
More solid pleasure would afford,

Than all my large command.

My humble love has learnt to live

On what the nicest maid,
Without a conscious blush, may give

Beneath the myrtle shade.
Of costly food it has no need,

And nothing will devour,
And like the harmless bee can feed

And not impair the flow'r.

A spotless innocence like thine

May such a flame allow,
Yet thy fair name for ever shine,

As does thy beauty now.

216 LOVE-SONGS.

I heard thee wish my lambs might stray
Safe from the fox's power ;

Though every one becomes his prey,
I'm richer than before.

SONG IX.

BY WILLIAM SHENSTONE, EStt.

I TOLD my nymph, I told her true,
My fields were small, my flocks were few
While faltering accents spoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove sincere.

Of crops destroy 'd by vernal cold,
And vagrant sheep that left my fold :
Of these she heard, yet bore to hear;
And is not Flavia then sincere ?

How, chang'd by Fortune's fickle wind,
The friends I lov'd became unkind j
She heard and shed a generous tear ;
And is not Flavia then sincere ?

How, if she deign' d my love to bless,
My Flavia must not hope for dress :
This too she heard, and smil'd to hear ;
And Flavia sure must be sincere.

Go shear your flocks, ye jovial swains,
Go reap the plenty of your plains j
Despoil' d of all which you revere,
1 know my Flavia' s love sincere.

LOVE-SONGS. 217

SONG X,

BY MR. BAKER.

O HAD I been by fate decreed

Some humble cottage swain,
In Rosalinda's sight to feed

My sheep upon the plain ;
How happy would those days have pass'd

Which now are fill'd with woe !
You envious pow'rs ! why have ye plac'd

My fair-one's lot so low ?*

How sottish custom over-rules

The force of Nature's law !
Begun, and carried on by fools,

It keeps mankind in awe.

* This verse is inserted by Bickerstaff in c Love in a Village.'
The thefts of this ingenious plagiarist, however numerous, have been
so little noticed, that it may not be amiss to mention those which he
has been already convicted of, in the poetical part only of the above
opera. * Hope thou nurse of young desire/ his first song, is the
fifth in Charles Johnson's ' Village Opera.' ' My heart's my own,
my will is free,' is taken, with the slightest variation, from Mit-
chell's ' Highland Fair.' Eustace's song, ' Think my fairest how
delay/ is pilfered from the same opera. Lucinda's, * We women
like weak Indians trade/ is purloined from one beginning * Pur-
suing beauty, men descry.' Young Meadows's song, ' How much
superior beauty awes/ is the second verse of one intitled ' The
Phoenix/ beginning ' Amanda's fair by all confest ;' and old Justice
Woodcock's favourite piece of ribaldry, * When I follow'd a lass
that was peevish and shy/ is stolen verbatim from Colley Gibber's
1 Love in a Riddle.' Of Mr. Baker little else is known than that
he was a writer of verses about the year 1730.

218 LOVE-SONGS.

Nature to rule the world design' d
The generous and the fair,

But custom has the sway eonfin'd
To such as wealthy are.

Each charm in Rosalinda's face

Convincingly declares
None can, but for the second place,

Contend when she appears.
Then, 'cause blind Fortune has not thrown

Her favours in her way,
Shall I her sov'reignty disown,

And scruple to obey ?

Ah ! no j — dominion is her due,

The right which Nature gave j
Let him, who dares dispute, but view

Her eyes, — and be her slave :
And may the world, convinc'd by me,

Before the charmer fall,
Whose beauty makes her fit to be

Acknowledg'd queen of all.

SONG XI.
THE PERFECTION*.

WE all to conquering beauty bow,

Its pleasing pow'r admire 5
But I ne'er saw a face till now

That could like your's inspire :

* Originally addressed to the first Duchess of Grafton.

LOVE-SONGS. 219

Now I may say, I've met with one

Amazes all mankind j
And, like men gazing on the sun,

With too much light am blind.

Soft, as the tender moving sighs,

When longing lovers meet ;
Like the divining prophets, wise $

Like new-blown roses, sweet :
Modest, ye,t gay , reserv'd, yet free ;

Each happy night a bride j
A mien like awful majesty,

And yet no spark of pride.

The patriarch, to gain a wife,

Chaste, beautiful, and young,
Serv'd fourteen years a painful life,

And never thought it long :
Ah ! were you to reward such cares,

And life so long could stay,
Not fourteen, but four hundred years,

Would seem but as one day. O.

SONG XII.

BY SIR JOHN EATON*.

TELL me not I my time misspend,

'Tis time lost to reprove me ;
Pursue thou thine, I have my end,

So Chloris only love me.

* An old MS. copy, with some trifling variations, in the Harleian
library, is under the name of Philip King.

220 LOVE-SONGS.

Tell me not others' flocks are full,
Mine poor ; let them despise me

Who more abound in milk and wool,
So Chloris only prize me.

Tire others' easier ears with these

Unappertaining stories ;
He never felt the world's disease

Who car'd not for its glories.

For pity, thou that wiser art,

Whose thoughts lie wide of mine,

Let me alone with my own heart,
And I'll ne'er envy thine.

Nor blame him, whoe'er blames my wit,
That seeks no higher prize,

Than in unenvied shades to sit,
And sing of Chloris' eyes.

SONG XIII.

BY MR. WILLIAM WOTT.

SWEET are the banks, when spring perfumes

The verdant plants, and laughing flow'rs ;
Fragrant the violet, as it blooms j

And sweet the blossoms after show'rs :
Sweet is the soft, the sunny breeze,

That fans the golden orange grove ;
But oh ! how sweeter far than these

The kisses are of her I love.

LOVE-SONGS. 221

Ye roses, blushing in your beds,

That with your odours scent the air ;
Ye lilies chaste ! with silver heads

As my Cleora's bosom fair.
No more I court your balmy sweets j

For I, and I alone, can prove,
How sweeter, when each other meets,

The kisses are of her I love.

Her tempting eyes my gaze inclined,

Their pleasing lesson first I caught ;
Her sense, her friendship next confin'd

The willing pupil she had taught.
Should Fortune, stooping from her sky,

Conduct me to her bright alcove j
Yet, like the turtle, I should die,

Denied the kiss of her I love

SONG XIV.
(. 'Imitated from a Spanish Madrigal*}

BY DAVID GARRICK, ESQ..

FOR me my fair a wreath has wove
Where rival flowers in union meet ;

As oft she kiss'd this gift of love,

Her breath gave sweetness to the sweet.

* In Mr. Twiss's Tour in Spain. The song itself is at the end.

222 LOVE-SONGS.

A bee within a damask rose

Had crept the nectar 'd dew to sip,

But lesser sweets the thief foregoes,
And fixes on Louisa's lip.

There tasting all the bloom of spring,
Wak'd by the ripening breath of May,

Th' ungrateful spoiler left his sting,
And with the honey fled away.

SONG XV.

BY SIR JOHN MOORE, BART.

CEASE to blame my melancholy,

Though with sighs and folded arms,
I muse in silence on her charms j

Censure not — I know 'tis folly.

Yet, these mournful thoughts possessing.
Such delights I find in grief,
That, could heaven afford relief,

My fond heart would scorn the blessing.

SONG XVI.
THE GIRDLE.

EY EDMUND WALLER, ESQ.

THAT which her slender wa\st confm'd,
Shall now my joyful temples bind :

LOVE-SONGS. 223

No monarch but would give his crown
His arms might do what this has done.

It was my heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer :
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move !

<•>

A narrow compass ! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair :
Give me but what this ribbon bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.

SONG XVII.

BY THE EARL OF DORSET.

LET the ambitious ever find

Success in crowds and noise,
While gentle love does fill my mind

With silent real joys.

Let knaves and fools grow rich and great,
And the world think them wise,

While I lye at my Nanny's feet/
And all that world despise.

Let conquering kings new trophies raise,

And melt in court delights :
Her eyes can give much brighter days,

Her arms much softer nights.

224 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XVIII.

(A Translation from Sappho. *)

BY AMBROSE PHILIPS, ESft,

BLESS'D as th' immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak, and sweetly smile.

'Twas this depriv'd my soul of rest,
i And rais'd such tumults in my breast j
For while I gaz'd, in transport toss'd,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost.

My bosom glow'd -, the subtile flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame $
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung,
My ears with hollow murmurs rung,

In dewy damps my limbs were chill' d,
My blood with gentle horrors thrill' d;
My feeble pulse forgot to play,
I fainted, sunk, and died away.

• [This translation appears to have procured a higher and more
durable celebrity for namby-pamby Philips, than all the original
poems, which he collected and published a short tune before his de-
cease in 1749.]

LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XIX.

{In imitation of Cornelius Gallus.)

BY THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

MY goddess Lydia, heav'nly fair,

As lilies sweet, as soft as air ;

Let loose thy tresses, spread thy charms,

And to my love give fresh alarms.

O let me gaze on those bright eyes,
Though sacred lightning from them flies :
Show me that soft, that modest grace,
Which paints with charming red thy face.

Give me ambrosia in a kiss,
That I may rival Jove in bliss 5
That I may mix my soul with thine,
And make the pleasure all divine.

O hide thy bosom's killing white,
(The milky way is not so bright)
Lest you my ravish' d soul oppress,
With beauty's pomp and sweet excess.

Why draw'st thou from the purple flood
Of my kind heart the vital blood ?
Thou art all over endless charms j
O ! take me, dying, to thy arms.

VOL, I. Q

226 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XX.

[BY AMBROSE PHILIPS, ESft.]

ON Belvidera's bosom lying,
Wishing, panting, sighing, dying ;
The cold regardless maid to move

With unavailing pray'rs I sue ;
You first have taught me how to love,

Ah ! teach me to be happy too-

But she, alas ! unkindly wise,
To all my sighs and tears replies,
'Tis every prudent maid's concern

Her lover's fondness to improve ;
If to be happy you should learn,

You quickly would forget to love .

SONG XXI.
LOVE ECSTATIC.

BY MR. HENRY CAREY*.

To be gazing on those charms,
To be folded in those arms,

* Honest Harry introduced this song with a slight alteration, as a
duet, in his little interlude of * Nancy, or the Parting Lovers.' It
appears, however, from his poems, to have been written long be-
fore.

LOVE-SONGS. 227

To unite my lips with those,
Whence eternal sweetness flows j

To be lov'd by one so fair,

Is to be blest beyond compare.

On that bosom to recline,
While that hand is lock'd in mine ;
In those eyes myself to view,
Gazing still, and still on you -}

To be lov'd by one so fair,

Is to be blest beyond compare.

SONG XXII.

THE bird that hears her nestlings cry,

And flies abroad for food,
Returns impatient through the sky,

To nurse her callow brood.
The tender mother knows no joy,

But bodes a thousand harms -,
And sickens for the darling boy,

While absent from her arms.

Such fondness with impatience join'd

My faithful bosom fires ;
Now forc'd to leave my fair behind,

The queen of my desires !
The powers of verse too languid prove,

All similes are vain,
To show how ardently I love,

Or to relieve my pain.

228 LOVE-SONGS.

The saint with fervent zeal inspir'd

For heav'n and joys divine,
The saint is not with raptures fir'd

More pure, more warm than mine.
I take what liberty I dare ;

'Twere impious to say more :
Convey my longings to the fair,

The goddess I adore.

SONG XXIII.

BY SHEFFIELD DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.*

FROM all uneasy passions free,
Revenge, ambition, jealousy,
Contented, I had been too blest,
If love and you had let me rest :
Yet that dull life I now despise ;

Safe from your eyes
I fear'd no griefs, but then I found no joys.

Amidst a thousand kind desires,
Which beauty moves, and love inspires,
Such pangs I feel of tender fear,
No heart so soft as mine can bear.
Yet I'll defy the worst of harms j

Such are your charms,
'Tis worth a life to die within your arms.

* [Dr. Johnson appositely says of this noble writer — 'His songs
are upon common topics ; he hopes and grieves, and repents and
despairs and rejoices, like any other maker of little stanzas.']

LOVE-SONGS. 229

SONG XXIV.

BY DAVID GARRICK, ESa.*.

ONCC more I'll tune the vocal shell,
To hills and dales my passion tell ;
A flame which time can never quell,

That burns for lovely Peggy.
Yet greater bards the lyre should hit j
For pray what subject is more fit,
Than to record the sacred wit

And bloom of lovely Peggy.

The sun first rising in the morn,
That paints the dew-bespangled thorn.
Does not so much the day adorn

As does my lovely Peggy.
And when in Thetis' lap to rest,
He streaks with gold the ruddy West,
He's not so beauteous as, undress'd,

Appears my lovely Peggy.

Were she array 'd in rustic weed,
With her the bleating flocks I'd feed,
And pipe upon my oaten reed,

To please my lovely Peggy.
With her a cottage would delight,
All pleases when she's in my sight j
But when she's gone, 'tis endless night,

All's dark without my Peggy.

* The real object of the poet's admiration was said to be Mrs.
(Margaret) Woffington, the actress.

230 LOVE-SONGS.

When Zephyr on the violet blows,
Or breathes upon the damask rose,
He does not half the sweets disclose,

That does my lovely Peggy.
I stole a kiss the other day,
And, trust me, nought but truth I say,
The fragrant breath of blooming May

Was not so sweet as Peggy.

While bees from flow'r to flow'r do rove,
And linnets warble through the grove,
Or stately swans the waters love,

So long shall I love Peggy :
And when Death, with his pointed dart,
Shall strike the blow that rives my heart,
My words shall be, when I depart,

Adieu, my lovely Peggy.

SONG XXV.
MAY-EVE ; OR KATE OF ABERDEEN.

BY MR. JOHN CUNNINGHAM.

THE silver moon's enamour'd beam

Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,

And kiss reflected light.
To beds of state go balmy sleep,

('Tis where you've seldom been)
May's vigil while the shepherds keep

With Kate of Aberdeen.

LOVE-SONGS. 231

Upon the green the virgins wait,

In rosy chaplets gay,
'Till morn unbar her golden gate,

And give the promised May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare,

The promis'd May, when seen,
Not half so fragrant, half so fair,

As Kate of Aberdeen.

Strike up the tabor's boldest notes,

We'll rouse the nodding grove ;
The nested birds shall raise their throats,

And hail the maid I love :
And see — the matin lark mistakes,

He quits the tufted green :
Fond bird ! 'tis not the morning breaks,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now lightsome o'er the level mead

Where midnight fairies rove,
Like them, the jocund dance we'll lead,

Or tune the reed to love :
For see the rosy May draws nigh ;

She claims a virgin-queen ;
And hark, the happy shepherds cry,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen ! *

* [This was not introduced by Ritson among his ' Scotish Songs,'
2 vols. 1794 ; though it would appear to have raore^ claim to such
insertion than the ballad of ' William and Margaret,' with some others
that are altogether English, in subject, language, and allusion.]

232 LOVE-SONGS.

x SONG XXVI.

NANCY OF THE VALE.

BY WILLIAM SHENSTONE, ESQ..

THE western sky was purpled o'er

With every pleasing ray 5
And flocks reviving felt no more

The sultry heats of day :

When from an hazel's artless bow'r
Soft warbled Strephon's tongue j

He blest the scene, he blest the hour,
While Nancy's praise he sung.

Let fops with fickle falsehood range

The paths of wanton love,
While weeping maids lament their change.

And sadden every grove :

But endless blessings crown the day

I saw fair Esham's dale !
And every blessing find its way

To Nancy of the Vale.

'Twas from Avona's banks the maid

Diffus'd her lovely beams,
And every shining glance display 'd

The naiad of the streams.

LOVE-SONGS. 233

Soft as the wild duck's tender young,

That float on Avon's tide ;
Bright as the water lily, sprung",

And glittering near its side.

Fresh as the bordering flowers, her bloom ;

Her eye all mild to view j
The little halcyon's azure plume ,

Was never half so blue.

Her shape was like the reed, so sleek,

So taper, strait, and fair ;
Her dimpled smile, her blushing cheek,

How charming sweet they were !

Far in the winding vale retir'd,

This peerless bud I found ;
And shadowing rocks, and woods conspir'd

To fence her beauties round.

That nature in so lone a dell

Should form a nymph so sweet !
Or fortune to her secret cell

Conduct my wandering feet !

Gay lordlings sought her for their bride,

But she would ne'er incline :
f Prove to your equals true, (she cried,)

' As I will prove to mine.

' 'Tis Strephon, on the mountain's brow,

' Has won my right good will j
' To him I gave my plighted vow,

< With him I'll climb the hill'

234 LOVE-SONGS.

Struck with her charms and gentle truth,
I clasp' d the constant fair ;

To her alone I gave my youth,
And vow my future care.

And when this vow shall faithless prove,
Or I those charms forego j

The stream that saw our tender love,
That stream shall cease to flow.

SONG XXVII.

BY SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.

NOT, Celia, that I juster am,

Or truer than the rest ;
For I would change each hour like them,

Were it my interest.

But I'm so fix'd alone to thee

By every thought I have,
That should you now my heart set free,

'Twould be again your slave.

All that in woman is ador'd

In thy dear self I find ;
For the whole sex can but afford

The handsome, and the kind.

Not to my virtue, but thy power,

This constancy is due ;
When change itself can give no more,

'Tis easy to be true.

LOVE-SONGS. 235

SONG XXVIII.

BY DR. JOHNSON.

NOT the soft sighs of vernal gales,
The fragrance of the flowery vales,
The murmurs of the crystal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill ;
Not all their charms, though all unite,
Can touch my bosom with delight.

Not all the gems on India's shore,

Not all Peru's unbounded store,

Not all the power, nor all the fame,

That heroes, kings, or poets claim ;

Nor knowledge which the learn' d approve,

To form one wish my soul can move.

Yet Nature's charms allure my eyes,
And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize ;
Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain,
Nor seek I Nature's charms in vain ;
In lovely Stella all combine,
And, lovely Stella ! thou art mine.*

* [The general criticism passed by Dr. Johnson upon the songs of
Sheffield Duke of Buckingham, at p. 228, seems not inapplicable to
the specimen here given of his own powers in the same species of
composition, whi^h certainly betrays too much of common place
thought and artificial compliment.]

236 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XXIX.
DELIA.— A PASTORAL.

BY MR. JOHN CUNNINGHAM.

THE gentle swan, with graceful pride,

Her glossy plumage laves ;
And sailing down the silver tide,

Divides the whispering waves :
The silver tide, that wandering flows,

Sweet to the bird must be !
But not so sweet — blithe Cupid knows,

As Delia is to me.

A parent bird, in plaintive mood,

On yonder fruit-tree sung ;
And still the pendent nest she view'd,

That held her callow young :
Deario the mother's fluttering heart

The genial brood must be j
But not so dear (the thousandth part !)

As Delia is to me.

The roses that my brow surround,

Were natives of the dale ;
Scarce pluck' d, and in a garland bound,

Before their sweets grew pale !
My vital bloom would thus be froze,

If luckless torn from thee ;
For what the root is to the rose,

My Delia is to me.

LOVE-SONGS. 237

Two doves I found, like new fall'n snow,

So white the beauteous pair !
The birds to Delia 111 bestow,

They're like her bosom fair !
When, in their chaste connubial love,

My secret wish she'll see ;
Such mutual bliss as turtles prove,

May Delia share with me.

SONG XXX.

BY MATTHEW PRIOR, ESQ.

IF wine and music have the pow'r

To ease the sickness of the soul ;
Let Phoebus every string explore,

And Bacchus fill the spritely bowl.
Let them their friendly aid employ

To make my Chloe's absence light,
And seek for pleasure, to destroy

The sorrows of this live-long night.

But she to-morrow will return ;

Venus be thou to-morrow great,
The myrtles strew, thy odours burn,

And meet thy fav'rite nymph in state.
Kind goddess ! to no other pow'rs

Let us to-morrow's blessings own -,
The darling Loves shall guide the hours,

And all the day be thine alone,

238 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XXXI.

(An Imitation of Martial.)

BY SIR CHARLES HANBURY WILLIAMS. ?

COME, Chloe, and give me sweet kisses,

For sweeter sure girl never gave :
But why in the midst of my blisses

Do you ask me how many I'd have ?
I'm not to be stinted in pleasure,

Then prythee, my charmer, be kind -,
For whilst I love thee above measure,

To numbers I'll ne'er be confin'd.

Count the bees that on Hybla are playing,

Count the flow'rs that enamel its fields,
Count the flocks that on Tempe are straying,

Or the grain that rich Sicily yields :
Go number the stars in the heaven,

Count how many sands on the shore 5
When so many kisses you've given

I still shall be craving for more.

To a heart full of love let me hold thee,

To a heart which, dear Chloe, is thine j
With my arms I'll for ever infold thee,

And twist round thy neck like a vine.
What joy can be greater than this is ?

My life on thy lips shall be spent ^
But the wretch that can number his kisses

With few will be ever content.

LOVE-SONGS. 239

SONG XXXII.*

When charming Teraminta sings,
Each new air new passion brings ;
Now I resolve, and now I fear j
Now I triumph, now despair :

Frolic now, now faint I grow j
Now I freeze, and now I glow.
The panting zephyrs round her play,
And trembling on her lips would stay

Now would listen, now would kiss,
Trembling with divided bliss ;
'Till, by her breath repuls'd, they fly,
And in low pleasing murmurs die.

Nor do I ask that she would give,
By some new note, the pow'r to live j
I would, expiring with the sound,
Die on the lips that gave the wound.

* The author, according to Bysshe, was (Charles) Burnaby.
[Mr. Nichols, on the contrary, in his ' Select Poems', ascribes it to
William Burnaby, whose father is recorded by Wood as a London
gentleman, who became a commoner of Merton college, Oxford,
and afterwards entered of the Middle Temple. He produced four
plays, in some of which it is probable this song made its appearance.
Mr. Stephen Jones, I observe, in his new edition of ' Biographia
Dramatica,' deems the author of those plays, as Mr. Reed had done,
Charles Burnaby.]

6

240 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XXXIII.
THE FEMALE PHAETON.

BY MATTHEW PRIOR, EStt.

THUS Kitty *, beautiful and young,

And wild as colt untam'd j
Bespoke the fair from whom she sprung,

With little rage inflam'd :
Inflam'd with rage at sad restraint,

Which wise mamma ordain'd 5
And sorely vex'd to play the saint.

Whilst wit and beauty reign'd.

e Shall I thumb holy books, confin'd

' With Abigails forsaken ?
' Kitty's for other things design' d,

' Or I am much mistaken.
r^Must lady Jenny f frisk about,

' And visit with her cousins ?
' At balls must she make all the rout,

' And bring home hearts by dozens ?

' What has she better, pray, than I ?

' WTiat hidden charms to boast ?
c That all mankind for her should die,

s Whilst I am scarce a toast.

• Lady Catharine Hyde, afterwards Duchess of Queensberry.
t Lady Jane Hyde, then Countess of Essex, who died in France.

LOVE-SONGS. 241

c Dearest mamma, for once let me

' Unchain' d, my fortune try ;
f I'll have my earl as well as she,

{ Or know the reason why.

< I'll soon with Jenny's pride quit score,

f Make all her lovers fall 5
' They'll grieve I was not loos' d before ;

< She, I was loos'd at all.'
Fondness prevail'd, mamma gave way 5

Kitty, at heart's desire,
Obtained the chariot for a day,

And set the world on fire !

SONG XXXIV.*

BY MRS. PILKINGTON.

STELLA and Flavia, every hour,

Unnumber'd hearts surprise 5
In Stella's soul lies all her pow'r,

And Flavia' s in her eyes.

More boundless Flavians conquests are,

And Stella's more confin'd j
All can discern a face that's fair,

But few a lovely mind.

* This is printed as Mrs. Barber's, in her poems (London, 1734,
4to.) and appears in Dodsley's collection, under the name of J.
Earle. As to Mrs. Barber, she could not write so well ; and Mr.
Earle seems to be a fictitious personage. It was restored to Mrs.
Pilkington, on the authority of Mr. Deane Swift. (See Nichols's Sup-
plement to Swift, iii. 247.) It is almost needless to say, that the
song has been designed to pay a compliment to Mrs. Johnson.

VOL. I. R

242 LOVE-SONGS.

Stella, like Britain's monarch, reigns

O'er cultivated lands -}
Like eastern tyrants, Flavia deigns

To rule o'er barren sands.

Then boast, fair Flavia, boast your face,

Your beauty's only store ;
Your charms will every day decrease,

Each day gives Stella more.

SONG XXXV.

BY DR. AKENSIDE.*

THE shape alone let others prize,

The features of the fair 5
I look for spirit in her eyes,

And meaning in her air.

A damask cheek, an ivory arm,

Shall ne'er my wishes win j
Give me an animated form,

That speaks a mind within.

A face where awful honour shines,
Where sense and sweetness move,

And angel innocence refines
The tenderness of love.

* [Dr. Aikin observes that this song, though assigned to Akenside
by Ritson, is not contained in his works.]

LOVE-SONGS. 248

These are the soul of beauty's frame ;

Without whose vital aid,
Unfinish'd all her features seem,

And all her roses dead.

But ah ! where both their charms unite,

How perfect is the view,
With every image of delight,

With graces ever new :

Of power to charm the greatest woe,

The wildest rage controul,
Diffusing mildness o'er the brow,

And rapture through the soul.

Their power but faintly to express

All language must despair 5
But go, behold Arpasia's face,

And read it perfect there.

SONG XXXVI.
ON YOUNG PLINDA.

WHEN innocence and beauty meet,

To add to lovely female grace $
Ah ! how beyond expression sweet

Is every feature of the face.

By virtue, ripen'd from the bud,
The flow'r angelic odours breeds $

The fragrant charms of being good,
Makes gawdy vice to smell like weeds.
R 2

244 LOVE-SONGS.

Oh, saered virtue ! tune my voice

With thy inspiring harmony ;
Then I shall sing of rapting joys,

Will fill my soul with love of thee :

To lasting brightness be refin'd,
When this vain shadow flies away :

Th' eternal beauties of the mind

Will last when all things else decay. O.

SONG XXXVII.

BY THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

MY dear mistress has a heart

Soft as those kind looks she gave me,
When with love's resistless art,

And her eyes she did enslave me :
But her constancy's so weak,

She's so wild, and apt to wander,
That my jealous heart would break.

Should we live one day asunder.

Melting joys about her move,

Killing pleasures, wounding blisses j
She can dress her eyes in love,

And her lips can arm with kisses.
Angels listen when she speaks,

She's my delight, all mankind's wonder
But my jealous heart would break,

Should we live one day asunder.

LOVE-SONGS. 245

SONG XXXVIII.
THE LASS WITH THE GOLDEN LOCKS.

BY MR. CHRISTOPHER SMART.

No more of my Harriet, of Polly no more,
Nor all the bright beauties that charm' d me before j
My heart for a slave to gay Venus I've sold,
And barter' d my freedom for ringlets of gold :
I'll throw down my pipe, and neglect all my flocks,
And will sing to my lass with the golden locks.

Though o'er her white forehead the gilt tresses flow,

Like the rays of the sun on a hillock of snow 5

Such painters of old drew the Queen of the Fair,

'Tis the taste of the ancients, 'tis classical hair :

And though witlings may scoff, and though raillery mocks,

Yet I'll sing to my lass with the golden locks.

To live and to love, to converse and be free,
Is loving, my charmer, and living with thee :
Away go the hours in kisses and rhime,
Spite of all the grave lectures of old father Time ;
A fig for his dials, his watches, and clocks,
He's best spent with the lass of the golden locks.

Than the swan in the brook she's more dear to my sight,
Her mien is more stately, her breast is more white j
Her sweet lips are rubies, all rubies above,
Which are fit for the language or labour of love 5
At the park in the mall, at the play in the box,
My lass bears the bell with her golden locks.

246 LOVE-SONGS.

Her beautiful eyes as they roll, or they flow,

Shall be glad for my joy, or shall weep for my woe ;

She shall ease my fond heart, and shall soothe my soft pain,

While thousands of rivals are sighing in vain j

Let them rail at the fruit they can't reach, like the fox,

While I have the lass with the golden locks.

SONG XXXIX.
THE JE NE 89 A I Q U O I.*

BY WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, ESQ,,

YES I'm in love, I feel it now,
And Crelia has undone me j

And yet I'll swear I can't tell how
The pleasing plague stole on me.

'Tis not her face which love creates,
For there no graces revel -,

'Tis not her shape, for there the fates
Have rather been uncivil.

* [The idea of this graceful song would seem to have been bor-
rowed from some stanzas in Habinglon's ' Castara,' 163.S, which
are presumed to possess sufficient merit to authorize insertion here.

TO CASTARA, INQUIRING WHY I LOVED HER?

'Tis not thy virtues; each a star,

Which in thy soul's bright sphere do shine,

Shooting their beauties from afar,
To make each gazer's heart like thine :

Our virtues often meteors are.

LOVE-SONGS* 247

'Tis not her air, for sure in that

There's nothing more than common 5

And all her sense is only chat,
Like any other woman.

Her voice, her touch might give thj alarm —

'Twas both perhaps or neither :
In short 'twas that provoking charm

Of Coelia all together.

'Tis not thy face : — I cannot spy
When poets weep some virgin's death,

That Cupid wantons iu her eye,

Or perfumes vapour from her breath :

For 'mongst the dead thou once must lie.

Nor is't thy birth : — for I was ne'er
So vain, in that as to delight,

Which balance it no weight doth bear,
Nor yet is object to the sight,

But only fills the vulgar ear.

Nor yet thy fortunes : — since I know
They, in their motion like the sea,

Ebb from the good, to th' impious flow;
And so in flattery betray,

That raising, they but overthrow.

And yet these attributes might prove
Fuel enough t' inflame desire;

But there was something from above,
Shot, without reason's guide, this fire :

I know, yet know not why, I love.]

248 LOVE SONGS.

SONG XL.
SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.

BY MR. HENRY CAREY.

OF all the girls that are so smart,

There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land

Is half so sweet as Sally :
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage-nets,

And through the streets does cry 'em
Her mother she sells laces long

To such as please to buy 'em :
But sure such folks could ne'er beget

So sweet a girl as Sally !
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

When she is by, I leave my work,

(I love her so sincerely)
My master comes, like any Turk,

And bangs me most severely :
But, let him bang his belly full,

I'll bear it all for Sally ;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

LOVE-SONGS. . 249

Of all the days that's in the week,

I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes betwixt

A Saturday and Monday ;
For then Pm dress' d all in my best,

To walk abroad with Sally j
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

My master carries me to church,

And often am I blamed,
Because I leave him in the lurch,

As soon as text is named :
I leave the church in sermon-time,

And slink away to Sally ;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again,

O then I shall have money ;
I'll hoard it up, and box and all

I'll give it to my honey :
I would it were ten thousand pound,

I'd give it all to Sally ;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

My master, and the neighbours all,

Make game of me and Sally 5
And (but for her) I'd better be

A slave, and row a galley : .
But when my seven long years are out,

O then I'll marry Sally j
O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed,

But not in our alley.

250 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG XLI.
SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED SUSAN

BY MR. GAY.

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,

The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-ey'd Susan came on board :

f Oh ! where shall I my true love find ?
' Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
' If my sweet William sails among the crew ! '

William, who high upon the yard,
Rock'd with the billows to and fro,

Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sigh'd and cast his eyes below :

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,

And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high pois'd in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast,

(If, chance, his mate's shrill voice he hear)
And drops at once into her nest.

The noblest captain in the British fleet

Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.

f O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

' My vows shall ever true remain :
' Let me kiss off that falling tear,

( We only part to meet again.
' Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be
' The faithful compass that still points to thee.

LOVE-SONGS. 251

( Believe not what the landmen say,

' Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind :

' They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,
' In ev'ry port a mistress find.

* Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,

' For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

' If to fair India's coast we sail,

' Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright >

' Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
' Thy skin is ivory so white.

' Thus every beauteous object that I view,

' Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

' Though battle call me from thy arms,

f Let not my pretty Susan mourn j
( Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms

e William shall to his dear return.
{ Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
* Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.'

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread $

No longer must she stay on board :

They kiss, she sigh'd, he hung his head ;

Her less'ning boat unwilling rows to land :

Adieu ! she cries, and wav'd her lily hand*.

* [Dr. Johnson asserts that the smaller poems of Gay are neither
much esteemed nor totally despised j he even calls this the public
judgment, and affirms it to be right. But the continued popularity
of this and other minor pieces, by the same poet, reverses his un-
camlid sentence.]

352 LOVE-SONGS,

SONG XLIL

(From the Lapland tongue .)

BY SIR RICHARD STEELE?*

THOU rising sun, whose gladsome ray
Invites my fair to rural play,
Dispel the mist, and clear the skies,
And bring my Orra to my eyes.

Oh ! were I sure my dear to view,
I'd climb that pine-tree's topmast bough,
Aloft in air that quivering plays,
And round and round for ever gaze.

My Orra Moor, where art thou laid ?
What wood conceals my sleeping maid ?
Fast by the roots, enrag'd, I'd tear
The trees that hide my promis'd fair.

Oh ! could I ride on clouds and skies,
Or on the raven's pinions rise !
Ye storks, ye swans, a moment stay,
And waft a lover on his way !

* Sir Richard is said to have written all the Spectators under the
signature T; and if so, should be author of this song, and the other
at p. 259. But the elegance of the former, at least, seems, it must
be confessed, more characteristic of the peculiarly happy manner of
Mr. Addison.

1

LOVE-SONGS.

My bliss too long my bride denies,
Apace the wafting summer flies :
Nor yet the wintry blasts I fear,
Not storms or night shall keep me here.

What may for strength with steel compare ?
Oh ! love has fetters stronger far :
By bolts of steel are limbs confin'd,
But cruel love enchains the mind.

No longer then perplex thy breast,
When thoughts torment, the first are best :
'Tis mad to go, 'tis death to stay,
Away to Orra, haste away !

SONG XLIII.
THE MIDSUMMER WISH.

BY DR. CROXALL.*

WAFT me, some soft and cooling breeze,
To Windsor's shady kind retreat ;

Where sylvan scenes, wide spreading trees,
Repel the dog-star's raging heat :

Where tufted grass and mossy beds

Afford a rural calm repose ;
Where woodbines hang their dewy heads,

And fragrant sweets around disclose.

* ' Written when the author was at Eton school,'

254 LOVE-SONGS.

Old oozy Thames, that flows fast by,
Along the smiling valley plays j

His glassy surface cheers the eye,

And through the flowery meadow strays.

His fertile banks, with herbage green,
His vales with golden plenty swell j

Wheree'er his purer streams are seen,
The gods of health and pleasure dwell.

Let me thy clear, thy yielding wave,
With naked arm once more divide ;

In thee my glowing bosom lave,
And stem thy gently rolling tide.

Lay me, with damask roses crown' d,
Beneath some osier's dusky shade j

Where water-lilies deck the ground,

Where bubbling springs refresh the glade-.

Let dear Lucinda too be there,
With azure mantle slightly drest j

Ye nymphs, bind up her flowing hair,
Ye zephyrs, fan her panting breast.

O haste away, fair maid, and bring
The muse, the kindly friend to love ;

To thee alone the muse shall sing,
And warble through the vocal grove,.

LOVE-SONGS 255

SONG XLIV.

BY DR. PERCY.

O NANCY wilt thou go with me,

Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town ?
Can silent glens have charms for thee,

The lowly cot and russet gown ?
No longer drest in silken sheen,

No longer deck'd with jewels rare ;
Say, can'st thou quit each courtly scene,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ?

O Nancy ! when thou'rt far away,

Wilt thou not cast a look behind >
Say, canst thou face the parching ray,

Nor shrink before the wintry wind ?
O can that soft and gentle mien

Extremes of hardship learn to bear $
Nor sad regret each courtly scene,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ?

O Nancy ! canst thou love so true,

Through perils keen with me to go ;
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,

To share with him the pang of woe ?
Say, should disease or pain befal,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care $
Nor wistful those gay scenes recal,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ?

256 LOVE-SONGS.

And when at last thy love shall die.

Wilt thou receive his parting breath r
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,

And cheer with smiles the bed of death ?
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay

Strew flow'rs, and drop the tender tear \
Nor then regret those scenes so gay,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? *

SONG XLV.

BY MISS WHATELY.

COME dear Pastora, come away !

And hail the cheerful spring j
Now fragrant blossoms crown the May,

And woods with love-notes ring :
Now Phoebus to the west descends,

And sheds a fainter ray ;
And as our rural labour ends,

We bless the closing day.

In yonder artless maple -bow' r,

With blooming woodbines twin'd ;
Let us enjoy the evening hour,

On earth's soft lap reclin'd :
Or where yon poplar's verdant boughs

The crystal current shade ;
O deign, fair nymph, to hear the vows

My faithful heart has made.

* [An ingenious counterpart to this much and deservedly admired
§ong, may be seen in the additions to Class iv. p. 197.]

LOVE-SONGS. 257

Within this breast no soft deceit,

No artful flattery bides ;
But truth, scarce known among the great,

O'er every thought presides :
On pride's false glare I look with scorn,

And all its glittering train ;
Be mine the pleasures which adorn

This ever-peaceful plain.

Come then, my fair, and with thy love

Each rising care subdue -,
Thy presence can each grief remove,

And every joy renew :
The lily fades, the rose grows faint,

Their transient bloom is vain ;
But lasting truth and virtue paint

Pastora of the plain.

SONG XLVI.

BY NAT LEE.*

HAIL to the myrtle shade,

All hail to the nymphs of the fields
Kings would not here invade

Those pleasures that virtue yields $
Beauty here opens her arms,

To soften the languishing mind j
And Phillis unlocks her charms :

Ah Phillis ! ah, why so kind ?

* In tbe tragedy of * Theodosius.'
VOL. I. S

•25S LOVE-SONGS.

Phillis, thou soul of love,

Thou joy of the neighbouring swains j
Phillis, that crowns the grove, -

And Phillis that gilds the plains :
Phillis that ne'er had the skill

To paint, and to patch, and be fine ;
Yet Phillis, whose eyes can kill,

Whom nature has made divine.

Phillis, whose charming song

Makes labour and pains a delight j
Phillis, that makes the day young,

4nd shortens the live -long night :
Phillis, whose lips, like May,

Still laugh at the sweets that they bring ;
Where love never knows 'decay,

But sets with eternal spring.

SONG XLVJI.

COME, dear Amanda, quit the town,

And to the rural hamlets fly ;
Behold, the wintry storms are gone,

A gentle radiance glads the sky :
The birds awake, the flowers appear,

Earth spreads a verdant couch for thee >
'Tis joy and music, all we hear !

'Tis love and beauty, all we see !

Come, let us mark the gradual spring,
How peep the buds, the blossom blows,

Till Philomel begins to sing,

And perfect May to spread the rose,

LOVE-SONGS. 259

Let us secure the short delight,
And wisely crop the blooming day ;

For soon, too soon it will be night : —
Arise, my love, and come away.

SONG XLVIII.

(From the Lapland tongue.}

BY SIR RICHARD STEELE ?

HASTE, my reindeer, and let us nimbly go

Our amorous journey through this dreary waste

Haste, my reindeer ! still, still thou art too slow,
Impetuous love demands the lightning's haste.

Around us far the rushy moors are spread :
Soon will the sun withdraw its cheerful ray :

Darkling and tir'd we shall the marshes tread ;
No lay unsung to cheat the tedious way. x

The watery length of these unjoyous moors
Does all the flowery meadows' pride excel j

Through those I fly to her my soul adores j
Ye flowery meadows, empty pride, farewell !

Each moment from the charmer I'm confin'd,
My breast is tortur'd with impatient fires ;

Fly, my reindeer, fly swifter than the wind.,
Thy tardy feet wing with my fierce desires.

S

260 LOVE-SONGS.

Our pleasing toil will then be soon o'erpaid,
And thou, in wonder lost, shall view my fair,

Admire each feature of the lovely maid,

Her artless charms, "her bloom, her sprightly ah\

But lo ! with graceful motion where she swims,
Gently removing each ambitious wave ;

The crowding waves transported clasp her limbs :
When, when, oh when shall I such freedoms have !

In vain, ye envious streams, so fast ye flow,
To hide her from a lover's ardent gaze :

From every touch you more transparent grow,
And all reveal' d the beauteous wanton plays.

SONG XLIX.
ARNO'S VALE.

BY THE EARL OF MIDDLESEX.*

WHEN here Lucinda first we came,

Where Arno rolls his silver stream,

How blithe the nymphs, the swains how gay,

Content inspir'd each rural lay :

The birds in livelier concert sung,

The grapes in thicker clusters hung ;

All look'd as joy could never fail

Among the sweets of Arno's vale.

* Charles Sackville, afterwards Duke of Dorset. It was written
at Florence in 1737, on the death of John Gas ton, the last Doke of
Tuscany, of the house of Medici ; and addressed to Signora Musco-
vita, a singer, a favourite of the author's.

LOVE-SONGS. 261

But since the good Palemon died,
The chief of shepherds, and their pride ;
Now Arno's sons must all give place
To northern men, an iron race.
The taste of pleasure now is o'er,
Thy notes, Lucinda, please no more ;
The Muses droop, the Goths prevail ;
Adieu the sweets of Arno's vale !

SONG L.

BY MR. EDWARD MOORE.

COLIN.

BE still, O ye winds, and attentive ye swains,
'Tis Phoebe invites, and replies to my strains j
The sun never rose on, search all the world through,
A shepherd so blest, or a fair one so true.

PHCEBE.

Glide softly, ye streams ; O ye nymphs round me throng
'Tis Colin commands, and attends to my song j
Search all the world over, you never can find
A maiden so blest, or a shepherd so kind.

BOTH.

'Tis love, like the sun, that gives light to the year,
The sweetest of blessings that life can endear 3
Our pleasures it brightens, drives sorrow away,
Gives joy to the night, and enlivens the day.

262 LOVE-SONGS

COLIN.

With Phoebe beside me, the seasons how gay !
The winter's bleak months seem as pleasant as May ;
The summer's gay verdure springs still as she treads,
And linnets and nightingales sing through the meads.

PHCEBE.

When Colin is absent, 'tis winter all round ;
How faint is the sunshine ! how barren the ground !
Instead of the linnet and nightingale's song
I hear the hoarse raven croak all the day long.

BOTH.
Tis love, like the sun, &c.

COLIN.

O'er hill, dale, and valley, my Phoebe and I
Together will wander, and Love shall be by :
Her Colin shall guard her safe all the long day,
And Phoebe at night all his pains shall repay.

PHCEBE.

By moonlight, when shadows glide over the plain,
His kisses shall cheer me, his arm shall sustain j
The dark haunted grove I can trace without fear,
Or sleep in a churchyard, if Colin is near.

BOTH.
'Tis love, like the sun^ &c.

COLIN.

Ye shepherds that wanton it over the plain,
How fleeting your transports ! how lasting your pain !

LOVE-SONGS.

Inconstancy shun, and reward the kind she,
And learn to be happy of Phoebe and me.

PHGGBE.

Ye nymphs, who the pleasures of love never tried,
Attend to my strains, and take me for your guide ;
Your hearts keep from pride and inconstancy free.
And learn to be happy of Colin and me.

BOTH.

'Tis love, like the sun, that gives light to the year,
The sweetest of blessings that life can endear j
Our pleasures it brightens, drives sorrow away,
Gives joy to the night, and enlivens the day.

SONG LI.
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.

BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOW.*

COME live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That vallies, groves, or hills and fields,
And all the steepy mountain yields.

* One of our earliest dramatic writers, and a person of great ge-
nius ; which this beautiful pastoral, had lie composed nothing else,
would sufficiently evince. It has been generally attributed to
Shakspeare, whose fame requires not any addition from other people's
performances. The author was killed by a strange accident, in a
brothel, 1593. Mario w had for rival an ill-looking fellow, whom, in

264 LOVE-SONGS.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses.
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider 'd all with leaves of myrtle.

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull j
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold -,

A belt of straw, and ivy buds,
With coral clasps, and amber studs :
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

a paroxysm of jealousy and revenge, he attempted to stab ; but the
fellow, seizing his hand, forced him to strike his dagger into his own
head.

[See more of Marlow, in Ritaon's observations on Warton's His-
tory of English Poetry ; also, in Wood's Athenae, S;r John Haw-
kins' edition of Walton's Angler, and the new Biographia Dramatica,
where Mr. S. Jones has done credit to his own moral sentiments,
though it was impossible to confer any on those of the unhappy, but
highly gifted poet.]

LOVE-SONGS, 265

SONG LII.
THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD.

BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

(f In his younger days.')

IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue j
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb j
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reck'ning yields ;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs j
AH these in me no means can move,
To come to thee, and be thy love.

266 LOVE-SONGS.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joy no date, nor age no need ;
Then these delights my mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

SONG LIH.
SUMMER.

BY THOMAS BREREWOOD, ES&.

WHERE the light cannot pierce, in a grove of tall trees,

With my fair-one as blooming as May,
Undisturb'd by all sound but the sighs of the breeze,

Let me pass the hot noon of the day.

When the sun, less intense, to the westward inclines,
For the meadows the groves we'll forsake,

And see the rays dance, as inverted he shines,
On the face of some river or lake.

Where my fairest and I, on its verge as we pass,
(For 'tis she that must still be my theme)

Our shadows may view on the watery glass,
While the fish are at play in the stream.

May the herds cease to low, and the lambkins to bleat,
When she sings me some amorous strain ;

All be silent and hush'd, unless Echo repeat
The kind words and sweet sounds back again,

2

LOVE-SONGS.

And when we return to our cottage at night,

Hand in hand as we sauntering stray,
Let the moon's silver beams through the leaves give us
light,

Just direct us, and chequer our way.

Let the nightingale warble its notes in our walk,

As thus gently and slowly we move ;
And let no single thought be express' d in our talk,

But of friendship improv'd into love.

Thus enchanted each day with these rural delights,

And secure from ambition's alarms -,
Soft love and repose shall divide all our nights,

And each morning shall rise with new charms.

SONG LIV,
WINTER.

BY THE SAME.

WHEN the trees are all bare, not a leaf to be seen,
And the meadows their beauty have lost ;

When Nature's disrob'd of her mantle of green,
And the streams are fast bound with the frost :

While the peasant inactive stands shivering with cold,

As bleak the winds northerly blow ;
And the innocent flocks run for ease to the fold,

With their fleeces besprinkled with snow :

268 LOVE-SONGS.

In the yard when the cattle are fodder 'd with straw.
And they send forth their breath like a steam j

And the neat looking dairy-maid sees she must thaw
Flakes of ice that she finds in the cream :

When the sweet country maiden, as fresh as a rose,

As she carelessly trips, often slides 5
And the rustics laugh loud, if by falling she shows

All the charms that her modesty hides :

When the lads and the lasses for company join'd,

In a crowd round the embers are met,
Talk of fairies, and witches that ride on the wind,

And of ghosts, till they're all in a sweat :

Heaven grant in this season it may be my lot,
With the nymph whom I love and admire,

While the isicles hang from the eaves of my cot,
I may thither in safety retire !

Where in neatness and quiet, and free from surprise,
We may live, and no hardships endure j

Nor feel any turbulent passions arise,
But such as each other may cure.

[Contented with life, yet not fearful to die ;

While we calmly contemplate each scene,
On the wings of delight every moment shall fly,

And the end of our days be serene.]*

* Adapted from a quatrain in Mr. Plumptre's songs, vol. i. 68.

LOVE-SONGS. 269

SONG LV.
CONTENT. A PASTORAL.

BY MR. JOHN CUNNINGHAM.

O'ER moorlands and mountains, rude, barren, and bare,

As wilder'd and wearied I roam,
A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair,

And leads me — o'er lawns — to her home :
Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had crown' d,

Green rushes were strew'd on the floor,
Her casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly round,

And deck'd the sod seats at her door.

We sate ourselves down to a cooling repast j

Fresh fruits ! and she cull'd me the best :
While thrown from my guard by some glances she cast,

Love slily stole into my breast.
I told my soft wishes ; she sweetly replied,

(Ye virgins, her voice was divine ! )
* I've rich ones rejected, and great ones denied,

' But take me, fond shepherd — I'm thine.'

Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek,

So simple yet sweet were her charms !
I kiss'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek,

And lock'd the dear maid in my arms.
Now jocund together we tend a few sheep,

And if, by yon prattler, the stream,
Reclin'd on her bosom I sink into sleep,

Her image still softens my dream.

270 LOVE-SONGS.

Together we range o'er the slow rising hills,

Delighted with pastoral views,
Or rest on the rock whence the streamlet distils,

And point out new themes/ for my muse.
To pomp or proud titles she ne'er did aspire,

The damsel's of humble descent j
The cottager Peace is well known for her sire,

And shepherds have nam'd her Content !

SONG LVI.
PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.

BY NICHOLAS BRETON*.

IN the. merry month of May,
On a morn, by break of day,
Forth I walk'd by the wood-side ;
When as May was in his pride,
There I spied, all alone,
Phillida and Corydon.

Much ado there was, God wot !
He would love, and she would not :
She said, never man was true j
He said., none was false to you.

* A writer of the 16th century, of whom nothing more is know a,
than that he composed a variety of poems on all subjects, most of
which are now totally forgotten. [The reader may find much more
relating to Breton than Ritson had explored, by consulting the
Theatrum Poetarum and Censura Literaria of Sir Egerton Brydge*,]

LOVE-SONGS.

He said, he had lov'd her long :
She said, love should have no wrong.

Corydon would kiss her then :
She said, maids must kiss no men,
Till they did for good and all.
Then she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness truth 3
Never lov'd a truer youth.

Thus, with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, and faith and troth !
Such as silly shepherds use
When they will not love abuse ;
Love, which had been long deluded,
Was with kisses sweet concluded :
And Phillida, with garlands gay,
Was made the lady of the May.

SONG LVII.

BY THE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

ALL my past life is mine no more,

The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams giv'n o'er,
Whose images are kept in store,
By memory alone.

Whatever is to come, is not $
How can it then be mine ?
The present moment's all my lot,
And that, as fast as it is got,
Phillis, is wholly thine.

LOVE-SONGS.

Then talk not of inconstancy,
False hearts and broken vows :

If I, by miracle, can be

This live-long minute true to thee,
'Tis all that Heav'n allows.

SONG LVIII.

BY .... BERKELEY, ESQ..*

CAN love be controul'd by advice ?

Can madness and reason agree ?
O Molly ! who'd ever be wise,

If madness is loving of thee ?
Let sages pretend to despise

The joys they want spirit's to taste ;
Let us seize old Time as he flies,

And the blessings of life while they last.

Dull wisdom but adds to our cares ;

Brisk love will improve every joy ;
Too soon we may meet with grey hairs,

Too late may repent being coy.
Then, Molly, for what should we stay,

Till our best blood begins to run cold ?
Our youth we can have but to-day,

We may always find time to grow old.

* It bas been said that this song was vrritten for the once well-
known Lady Vane.

LOVE-SONGS. 273

SONG LIX.

BY MR. ROBERT LLOYD.

THOUGH winter its desolate train
Of frost and of tempest may bring,

Yet Flora steps forward again.
And Nature rejoices in Spring.

Though the sun in his glories decreast,
Of his beams in the evening is shorn ;

Yet he rises with joy from the east,
And repairs them again in the morn.

But what can youth's sunshine recal,
Or the blossoms of beauty restore ?

When its leaves are beginning to fall,
It dies, and is heard of no more.

The spring-time of love then employ, /

'Tis a lesson that's easy to learn $
For Cupid's a vagrant, a boy,

And his seasons will never return.

SONG LX.

BY MR. CHARLES CHURCHILL.

WHEN youth, my Celia, 's in the prime,
With rapture seize the joyous time ;
VOL. I, T

LOVE-SONGS.

'Tis Nature dictates -, sport and play,
For youth is Nature's holiday.
How sweet to feel love's soft alarms,
When warm in blood, and full of charms !

Dull Winter comes with dreary frost,
Creation droops, her beauty's lost j
But Spring renews the jocund scene,
And wakes to life the new-born green.
When men's gay summer once is o'er,
The genial spring returns no more j
All then is void of sweet delight.
One dreary, tasteless winter's night.
How sweet to feel love's soft alarms,
When warm in blood, and full of charms.

The sun declines, and yields to night,
But shines next morn with orient light;
Well pleas 'd to run his golden race,
He traverses th' immense of space.
Not so with man j when once he dies,
His sun is set, no more to rise ;
Dull pris'ner of eternal night,
No more he sees the cheerful light.

Then take the boon kind Heav'n bestows,
In bloom of youth, when beauty glows j
Be bless' d to-day, perhaps to-morrow
May clouded rise, and teem with sorrow.
Life's morning past, the shadowy noon
Brings on the dismal night too soon.
How sweet to feel love's soft alarms,
When warm in blood, and full of charms.

LOVE-SONGS. 275

SONG LXI.
THE WINTER'S WALK.

BY DR. JOHNSON.

BEHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove,
What dreary prospects round us rise :

The naked hill, the leafless grove,

The hoary ground, the frowning skies !

Not only through the wasted plain,
Stern Winter, is thy force confess 'd 5

Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,
I feel thy pow'r usurp my breast.

Enlivening hope and fond desire

Resign the heart to spleen and care 5

Scarce frighted love maintains her fire,
And rapture saddens to despair.

In groundless hope, and causeless fear,

Unhappy man ! behold thy doom j
Still changing with the changeful year,

The slave of sunshine and of gloom.

Tir'd with vain joys, and false alarms,

With mental and corporeal strife,
Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms,

And screen me from the ills of life.

276 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG LXII.

TO A LADY ASKING HIM HOW LONG HE WOULD
LOVE HER.

BY SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE ? *

IT is not, Celia, in our power

To say how long our love will last j

It may be, we, within this hour
May lose the joys we now do taste :

The blessed, that immortal be,

From change in love are only free.

Then, since we mortal lovers are,
Ask not how long our love will last ?

But, while it does, let us take care
Each minute be with pleasure pass'd :

Were it not madness to deny

To live, because we're sure to die ?

Fear not, though love and beauty fail,

My reason shall my heart direct j
Your kindness now shall then prevail,

And passion turn into respect :
Celia, at worst, you'll, in the end,
But change a lover for a friend.

* [The note of interrogation annexed to this name, bespeaks it as
uncertainly ascribed to this witty and wanton author, who, in the li-
centious reign of our second Charles, was one of ' the mob of gen-
tlemen who wrote with ease.']

LOVE-SONGS, 277

SONG LXIII.*

DEAR Chloe, while thus, beyond measure,

You treat me with doubts and disdain,
You rob all your youth of its pleasure,

And hoard up an old age of pain.
Your maxim, that love is still founded

On charms that will quickly decay,
You'll find to be very ill grounded

When once you its dictates obey.

The passion from beauty first drawn,

Your kindness will vastly improve j
Soft looks and gay smiles are the dawn,

Fruition's the sunshine of love :
And though the bright beams of your eyes

Should be clouded, that now are so gay j
And darkness obscure all the skies,

We ne'er can forget it was day.

Old Darby, with Joan by his side,

You have often regarded with wonder -,
He's dropsical, she is sore-ey'd,

Yet they're ever uneasy asunder :
Together they totter about,

Or sit in the sun at the door j
And Tit night, when old Darby's pot's out,

His Joan will not smoke a whiff more.

* [This has been attributed to Matthew Prior j but on what au-
thority is not satisfactorily explained.]

278 LOVE-SONGS.

No beauty nor wit they possess,

Their several failings to smother ;
Then what are the charms, can you guess,

That make them so fond of each other ?
'Tis the pleasing remembrance of youth,

The endearments that love did bestow j
The thoughts of past pleasure and truth,

The best of all blessings below.

Those traces for ever will last,

Which sickness nor time can remove j
For when youth and beauty are pass'd,

And age brings the winter of love,
A friendship insensibly grows,

By reviews of such raptures as these 5
The current of fondness still flows,

Which decrepit old age cannot freeze.

SONG LXIV.

BY MR. EDWARD MOORE.

THAT Jenny's my friend, my delight, and my pride,
I always have boasted, and seek not to hide j
I dwell on her praises wherever I go,
They say I'm in love, but I answer no, no.

At evening oft-times with what pleasure I see
A note from her hand, ' I'll be with you at tea !'
My heart how it bounds, when I hear her below !
But say not 'tis love, for I answer no, no.

LOVE-SONGS. 279

She sings me a song, and I echo each strain,
Again, I cry, Jenny ! sweet Jenny, again !
I kiss her soft lips, as if there I could grow.
And fear I'm in love, though I answer no, no.

She tells me her faults, as she sits on my knee,
I chide her, and swear she's an angel to me ;
My shoulder she taps, and still bids me think so :
Who knows but she loves, though she tells me no, no ?

Yet such is my temper, so dull am I grown,
I ask not her heart, but would conquer my own :
Her bosom's soft peace shall I seek to o'erthrow,
And wish .to persuade, while I answer no,, no ?

From beauty, and wit, and good-humour, ah ! why
Should prudence advise, and compel me to fly ?
Thy bounties, O Fortune ! make haste to bestow,
And let me deserve her, or still I say no.

SONG LXV.

BY THE SAME.

How bless' d has my time been, what joys have I known,
Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jesse my own !
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain,
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain.

Through walks, grown with woodbines, as often we stray,
Around us our boys and girls frolic and play :
How pleasing their sport is the wanton ones see,
And borrow their looks from my Jesse and me.

280 LOVE-SONGS.

To try her sweet temper, sometimes am I seen
In revels all day with the nymphs on the green ;
Though painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles,
And meets me at night with compliance and smiles.

What though on her cheeks the rose loses its hue,
Her wit and good-humour bloom all the year through
Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth,
And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.

Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare,
And cheat with false vows the too credulous fair 5
In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam !
To hold it for life, you must find it at home.

SONG LXVI.

BY MR. ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.*

IN love should there meet a fond pair,

Untutor'd by fashion or art ;
Whose wishes are warm and sincere,

Whose words are th' excess of the heart

If aught of substantial delight

On this side the stars can be found,

'Tis sure when that couple unite,
And Cupid by Hymen is crown' d.

* In the comic opera of ' Love in a Village.5

LOVE-SONGS. 281

SONG LXVII.

From the Ancient British.*

[BY MR. GILBERT COOPER.]

AWAY ! let nought to love displeasing,

My Winifreda, move your care 3
Let nought delay the heavenly blessing,

Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.

What though no grants of royal donors
With pompous titles grace our blood,

We'll shine in more substantial honours,
And, to be noble, we'll be good.

Our name, while virtue thus we tender,
Will sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke ;

And all the great ones, they shall wonder
How they respect such little folk.

What though, from Fortune's lavish bounty,

No mighty treasures we possess 5
We'll find, within our pittance, plenty,

And be content without excess.

* [Dr. Aikin, in his * Vocal Poetry,' p. 152, considers this title as
' a poetic fiction only, or rather a stroke of satire, by which Dr.
Percy was strangely induced to insert the piece among his ' Re-
liques of Ancient Poetry.' In the Edinburgh Review, vol. xi. p. 37,
the honour of this production is given to the late Mr. Stephens (mean-
ing George Steevens,esq.) but with what propriety may be doubted.]

282 LOVE-SONGS.

Still shall each kind returning season

Sufficient for our wishes give j
For we will live a life of reason,

And that's the only life to live.

Through youth and age, in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread ;

Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.

How should I love the pretty creatures,
While round my knees they fondly clung !

To see them look their mother's features,
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue !

And when with envy Time transported,
Shall think to rob us of our joys ;

You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my boys.

SONG LXVIII.

BY DAVID GARRICK, ESft.*

YE fair married dames, who so often deplore,
That a lover once bless' d is a lover no more ;
Attend to my counsel, nor blush to be taught,
That prudence must cherish what beauty has caught,

* First sung by Mrs. Cibber, in the comedy of « The Way to
Keep Him.'

LOVE-SONGS. 283

The bloom of your cheek, and the glance of your eye,
Your roses and lilies may make the men sigh 5
But roses and lilies, and sighs pass away,
And passion will die as your beauties decay.

Use the man that you wed, like your fav'rite guittar j
Though music in both, they are both apt to jar ;
How tuneful and soft from a delicate touch,
Not handled too roughly, nor play'd on too much !

The sparrow and linnet will feed from your hand.
Grow tame by your kindness, and come at command :
Exert with your husband the same happy skill ;
For hearts, like your birds, may be tam'd to your will.

Be gay and good-humour 'd, complying and kind ;
Turn the chief of your care from your face to your mind 5
'Tis there that a wife may her conquests improve,
And Hymen shall rivet the fetters of Love.

SONG LXIX.
THE WAY TO KEEP HIM.

YE fair, possess'd of every charm

To captivate the will ;
Whose smiles can rage itself disarm,

Whose frowns at once can kill :
Say, will you deign the verse to hear,

Where flattery bears no part ;
An honest verse that flows sincere,

And candid from the heart >

284 LOVE-SONGS

Great is your power, but greater yet

Mankind it might engage,
If, as ye all can make a net,

Ye all could make a cage.
Each nymph a thousand hearts may take

For who's to beauty blind ?
But to what end a pris'ner make,

Unless we've strength to bind ?

Attend the counsel often told ;

Too often told in vain :
Learn that best art, the art to hold,

And lock the lover's chain.
Gamesters to little purpose win,

Who lose again as fast 5
Though beauty may the charm begin,

'Tis sweetness makes it last.

SONG LXX.
FEW HAPPY MATCHES.

BY ISAAC WATTS, D. D.

SAY, mighty Love, and teach my song
To whom thy sweetest joys belong,

And who the happy pairs,
Whose yielding hearts and joining hands
Find blessings twisted with their bands,

To soften all their cares.

LOVE-SONGS. 285

Not the wild herd of nymphs and swains,
That thoughtless fly into the chains,

As custom leads the way :
If there be bliss without design,
Ivies and oaks may grow and twine,

And be as bless' d as they.

Not sordid souls of earthly mould,
Who, drawn by kindred charms of gold,

To dull embraces move :
So two rich mountains of Peru
May rush to wealthy marriage too,

And make a world of love.

Not the mad tribe that hell inspires
With wanton flames j those raging fires

The purer bliss destroy :
On ./Etna's top let furies wed,
And sheets of lightning dress the bed,

T' improve the burning joy.

Nor the dull pairs, whose marble forms
None of the melting passions warms,

Can mingle hearts and hands :
Logs of green wood that quench the coals
Are married just like stoic souls,

With osiers for their bands*

Not minds of melancholy strain,
Still silent, or that still complain,

Can the dear bondage bless :
As well may heav'nly concerts spring
From two old lutes with ne'er a string,

Or none besides the bass.

28(5 LOVE-SONGS.

Nor can the soft enchantments hold
Two jarring souls of angry mould,

The rugged and the keen :
Sampson's young foxes might as well
In bonds of cheerful wedlock dwell,

With fire-brands tied between.

Nor let the cruel fetters bind
A gentle to a savage mind ;

For Love abhors the sight :
Loose the fierce tiger from the deer,
For native rage and native fear

Rise and forbid delight.

Two kindest souls alone must meet j
'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet,

And feeds their mutual loves :
Bright Venus, on her rolling throne,
Is drawn by gentlest birds alone,

And Cupids yoke the doves.

SONG LXXI.
FOR RANELAGH.

BY WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, EStt.

YE belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things,
Who trip in this frolicsome round !

Pray tell me from whence this indecency springs,
The sexes at once to confound >

LOVE-SONGS. 287

What means the cock'd hat, and the masculine air,
With each motion design 'd to perplex ?

Bright eyes were intended to languish, not stare j
And softness, the test of your sex.

The girl who on beauty depends for support,

May call every art to her aid -,
The bosom display 'd, and the petticoat short,

Are samples she gives of her trade :
But you, on whom Fortune indulgently smiles,

And whom pride has preserv'd from the snare,
Should slily attack us with coyness and wiles,

Not with open and insolent air.

The Venus, whose statue delights all mankind,

Shrinks modestly back from the view,
And kindly should seem by the artist design' d

To serve as a model for you.
Then learn with her beauties to copy her air,

Nor venture too much to reveal j
Our fancies will paint what you cover with care,

And double each charm you conceal.

The blushes of morn, and the mildness of May,

Are charms which no art can procure ,
Oh ! be but yourselves, and our homage we pay,

And your empire is solid and sure.
But if, Amazon-like, you attack your gallants,

And put us in fear of our lives ;
You may do very well for sisters and aunts,

But believe me you'll never be wives.

288 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG LXXII.
THE ROSE.*

BY *#*#**.

CHILD of summer, lovely rose,
In thee what blushing beauty glows j
But ere to-morrow's setting sun,
Thy beauty fades, thy form is gone ;
Yet though no grace thy buds retain,
Thy pleasing odours still remain.

Cleora's smile, like thine, sweet flower,
Shall bloom and wither in an hour j
But mental fragrance still shall last,
When youth and youthful charms are past.
Ye fair, betimes the moral prize,
'Tis lasting beauty to be wise !

* This agreeable little piece is inserted in a Collection of Miscel-
lanies, published under the name of Anna Williams, a blind lady;
containing some poems written by herself, and many more by Dr.
Johnson, and by Mrs. Thrale, Percy, Goldsmith, and others, whom
the Doctor, from motives of charity, invited to contribute to it. The
generosity of one of these gentlemen is rather remarkable : he very
modestly suffered Mrs. Williams to take the credit of several things
which he had published a dozen times before under his own name.

[Ritson did not allow himself to consider, that as this was an elee-
mosynary publications, and as the composition of Mrs. Williams might
not be sufficient in quantity, or in merit, to attract many purchasers,
it was an act of more than generosity to supply contributions which
possessed such attraction.]

LOVE-SONGS. 289

SONG LXXIII.

BY THE REV. THOMAS FITZGERALD.

THE charms which blooming beauty shows

From faces heav'nly fair,
We to the lily and the rose,

With semblance apt, compare.

With semblance apt,, for ah ! how soon —

How soon they all decay !
The lily droops, the rose is gone,

And beauty fades away.

But when bright virtue shines confess'd,

With sweet discretion join'd -,
When mildness calms the peaceful breast,

And wisdom guides the mind :

When charms like these, dear maid, conspire

Thy person to approve -,
They kindle generous chaste desire,

And everlasting love.

Beyond the reach of time or fate

These graces shall endure -,
Still, like the passion they create,

Eternal, constant, pure.

VOL. I. U

<290 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG LXXIV.
THE SAILOR'S ADIEU.

DISTRESS me with those tears no more :

One kiss, my girl, and then adieu !
The last boat, destin'd for the shore,

Waits, dearest girl, alone for you.
Soon, soon, before the light winds borne ,

Shall I be sever 'd from your sight j
You, left the lonely hours to mourn,

And weep through many a stormy night,

While far along the restless deep,

In trim array, the ship shall steer,
Your form remembrance still shall keep,

Your worth affection still revere :
Vnd with the distance from your eyes,

My love for you shall be increas'd ;
As to the pole the needle flies,

And farthest off still varies least.

While round the bowl the jovial crew

Shall sing of triumphs on the main,
My thoughts shall fondly turn to you,

Of you, my love, shall be the strain.
And when we've bow'd the treach'rous foe,

Vindictive of our country's wrong,
Returning home, my heart shall show

No fiction grac'd my artless -song.

LOVE-SONGS. 291

SONG LXXV.
BLOW HIGH, BLOW LOW.*

BY MR. DIBDIN, SENIOR.

BLOW high, blow low, let tempests tear

The main-mast by the board 5
My heart with thoughts of thee, my dear,

And love well stor'd,
Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear,
The roaring winds, the raging sea,
In hopes on shore
To be once more
Safe moor'd with thee.

Aloft while mountains high we go,

The whistling winds that scud along,
And the surge roaring from below,
Shall my signal be
To think on thee,
And this shall be my song :
Blow high, blow low, &c.

And on that night, when all the crew

The memory of their former lives
O'er flowing cans of flip renew,

And drink their sweethearts and their wives,
I'll heave a sigh, and think on thee j

And as the ship rolls through the sea,
The burden of my song shall be :

Blow high, blow low, &c.

* From the comic opera of * The Seraglio.'
U2

292 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG LXXVI. *

WITHIN this faithful bosom lies
The fondest records of true love ;

And fancy paints thee, as she flies,
The youth assign' d me from above.

Be far from me the joyless fate

Which venal Hymen brings that maid

Who breaks her vow, and finds too late
Her peace for ever is betray'd.

Love is the fairest blooming sweet,

Which nature to the world has shown j

But when no constancy we meet,
The perfume of that rose is gone !

SONG LXXVII.

BY MYLES COOPER, ESGl.

YES, my fair ! to thee belong
All the noblest powers of song >
Trust me, for I scorn deceit,
Nought on earth is half so sweet
As the melting dying note
Warbling through thy liquid throat,
Save the breath in which it flows,
Save the lip on which it grows.

* From Pilon's farce entitled « The Humours of an Election/

LOVE-SONGS. 293

SONG LXXVI1I.*

BY R. B. SHERIDAN, ES€l. .

How oft, Louisa, hast thou said,

Nor wouldst thou the fond boast disown,
Thou wouldst not lose Antonio's love

To reign the partner of a throne !
And by those lips that spoke so kind,

And by this hand now press 'd in mine,
To be the lord of wealth and pow'r,

I swear I would not part with thine.

Then how, my Love, can we be poor,

Who own what kingdoms cannot buy ?
Of this true heart thou shalt be queen,

And, serving thee, a monarch I !
Thus uncontroul'd in mutual bliss.

And blest with love's exhaustless mine ;
Do thou steal treasures from my lips,

And I'll take kingdoms back from thine.

SONG LXXIX.
VIRTUOUS LOVE'S REWARD.

IN the time of bloom and beauty,

Mind, ye swains, to be sincere ;
Keep to virtue, 'tis your duty,

Then the maid has nought to fear.

* From the comic opera of * The Duenna.'

294 LOVE-SONGS.

Else she'll slight whate'er you mention,
Nor by looks your suit approve :

Honour knows no base intention,
Virtuous love's reward is love.

SONG LXXX.
THE PROGRESS OF AFFECTION.

BY W. BOSCAWEN, ESQ.*

WHEN the first dawn of Anna's charms

Arose to my expecting sight j
Enraptur'd wonder, soft alarms,

Fill'd ev'ry sense with new delight.
Yet, by the world's example taught,

Which scorns the gen'rous flame to own,
I little heeded, little thought,

That ' Love is Virtue's gift alone.'

When native sense and modest grace,

With manners artless, though refin'd,
Ensur'd the triumph of the face,

And gently chain' d the willing mind ;
By just reflection undeceiv'd,

Stern Reason bow'd at Beauty's throne ;
Then first I thought, then first believ'd,

That ' Love is Virtue's gift alone.'

* [The ingenious translator of Horace, and a zealous promoter of
the Literary Fund. He was for many years a commissioner in
the Victualling-Office, and died at Little Chelsea, May 14, 1811.]

LOVE-SONGS. 295

But when affection's soft controul,

Beyond or sense, or beauty's pow'r,
Had purified, had fix'd the soul,

Once varying with the changeful hour :
By truth and tenderness I strove

To merit bliss till then unknown :
Ah ! then I felt the power of love -,

For ' Love is Virtue's gift alone !'

SONG LXXXI.
MAN'S BEST FRIEND.

SHOULD the rude hand of care wound my partner in life,
He always shall find his best friend in his wife :
In the midst of his woes, if on me he'll recline,
His sorfov/s, his anguish, his tears shall be mine.

If cheerfulness prompts him to mirthful employ,
My invention shall teem to enliven his joy.
When the light-footed hours all with gaiety shine,
His pleasures, his transports, his smiles shall be mine.

The wife, 'tis agreed, best her station adorns,
When spreading life's roses, aud blunting its thorns 3
Then I'll strive to select its most grateful of flow'rs
And their fragrance, their beauties, their bloom shall be
ours.

296 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG LXXXII.
THE SECOND LOVE OF A HEART FORSAKEN. *

BY THOMAS BROWN, M. D.

WHEN every voice of rapture woos
Thy charms, to share a happier part ;

Ah, Lady ! wilt thou not refuse
The sighings of a broken heart ?

And wilt thou, cold to every wile
Of promis'd bliss, that treasure cast

On Love, which ev'n amid thy smile
Will sometimes think upon the past ?

Yet oh ! regret not — 'twill but weep

New fondness ; as, when storms are o'er,

The shipwreck' d think upon the deep,
To bless their sheltering home the more.

SONG LXXXIII.
THE EVENING INVITATION.

BY HENRY SUMMERSETT.f

I LOVE thee, maiden, truly love j
As truly swear, my heart is thine !

The lattice close j and we will rove

Where the green oaks their arms entwine.

* [From vol. ii. of Poems published at Edinburgh in 1804.]
t [From a volume of animated poems published in 1805.]

LOVE-SONGS. 297

Oh ! let no timid fears prevail :

For I would sooner chase the lamb,

And stab the bosom of its dam,
Than thy fair virtue dare assail.

Clear is the sky j the wind so still,
The flowerets' lightest beauties rest :

And down the vale the playful rill

Steals, with the moon-beam on its breast.

Like thy dear eyes the stars appear :

And though the bird that loves this hour
Sings not within thy favourite bow'r,

To my fond voice, oh, lend thine ear !

For by thy father's locks so few,

For by thy mother's faded eye,
By all that's happy, pure, and true,

Dear image of the saints on high !
I take love's warm and holiest vow,

That ne'er thy tender arms I'll leave,

Thy peace disturb, thy bosom grieve,
Or fret with care thy beauteous brow.

SONG LXXXIV.
LUCY: OR, THE FESTIVAL.

BY ROBERT BLOOMFIELD.*

THY favourite bird is soaring still :
My Lucy, haste thee o'er the dale -,

* [From the ' Rural Tales and Songs' of this most simply inte-
resting and unassuming of poets ; whose heart has not been affected,
nor his head made dizzy, by sudden exaltation to popular applause.]

298 LOVE-SONGS.

The stream's let loose, and from the mill
All silent comes the balmy gale,
Yet, so lightly on its way,
Seems to whisper f holiday.'

The pathway flow'rs that bending meet,
And give the meads their yellow hue,
The May-bush and the meadow-sweet
Reserve their fragrance all for you.
Why then, Lucy, why delay ?
Let us share the holiday.

Since there thy smiles, my charming maid,

Are with unfeigned rapture seen :
To beauty be the homage paid,

Come, claim the triumph of the Green.
Here's my hand — come, come away,
Share the merry holiday.

A promise too my Lucy made,

(And shall my heart its claim resign)
That ere May-flow' rs again should fade,
Her heart and hand should both be mine.
Hark ye, Lucy, this is May !
Love shall crown our holiday.*

* [This song has been set to music by Mr. Leffler, and sung with
the greatest applause by Mrs. Mountain. It claims also to be more
generally known, that Mr. Bloomfield's elder brother Isaac com-
posed some of his songs, the music of which has been printed, and
by the sale of which a material service might be extended to his
widow ; who was left with several young children, quite unprovided
for, after the sudden death of her industrious husband.]

LOVE-SONGS. 299

SONG LXXXV.
THE SAPLING.

BY MR. DIBDIN, SENIOR.

IN either eye a lingering tear,

His love and duty well to prove j
Jack left his wife and children dear,

Impel!' d by honour and by love :
And as he loiter 'd, wrapt in care,

A sapling in his hand he bore,
Curiously carv'd, in letters fair —

e Love me, ah! love me evermore !'

At leisure to behold his worth,

Tokens, and rings, and broken gold,
He plung'd his sapling firm in earth,

And o'er and o'er his treasure told j
The letters spelt, the kindness trac'd,

And all affection's precious store,
Each with the favourite motto grac'd,

1 Love me, ah ! love me evermore.'

While on this anxious task employ 'd,

Tender remembrance all his care,
His ears are suddenly annoy 'd,

The boatswain's whistle cleaves the air :
'Tis duty calls, his nerves are brac'd,

He rushes to the crowded shore,
Leaving the sapling, in his haste,

That bids him ' love for evermore/

300 LOVE-SONGS.

The magic branch, thus unreclaim'd,

Far off at sea, no comfort near,
His thoughtless haste he loudly blam'd,

With many a sigh and many a tear :
Yet why act this unmanly part ?

The words the precious relic bore,
Are they not mark'd upon my heart ?

' Love me, ah ! love me evermore ! '

Escap'd from treach'rous waves and winds,

That three years he had felt at sea,
A wond'rous miracle he finds,

The sapling is become a tree !
A goodly head that graceful rears,

Enlarg'd the trunk, enlarg'd the core,
And on the rind enlarg'd appears —

' Love me, ah ! love me evermore.1

While gazing on the spell-like charms

Of this most wonderful of trees :
His Nancy rushes to his arms,

His children cling about his knees.
Increas'd in love, increas'd in size,

Taught from the mother's tender store,
Each little urchin lisping cries —

' Love me, ah ! love me evermore.'

Amazement seiz'd th' admiring crowd : —
' My children ! (cried a village seer)

' These signs, though mute, declare aloud
' The hand of Providence is here,

* Whose hidden, yet whose sure decrees,

' For those its succour who implore,

* Can still the tempest, level seas,

* And crown true love for evermore/

LOVE-SONGS. 301

SONG LXXXVI.
CONJUGAL AFFECTION.

BY MRS. OPJE.*

YES, thou art chang'd since first we met,
But think not I shall e'er regret j
Though never can my heart forget,

The charms that once were thine :
For, Marian, well the cause I know,

That stole the lustre from thine eye,
That prov'd thy beauty's secret foe,

And bade thy blooms and spirits fly : —
What laid thy health, my Marian, low,

Was anxious care of mine.

O'er my sick couch I saw thee bend,
The duteous wife, the tender friend,
And each capricious wish attend

With soft incessant care.
Then trust me, Love ! that pallid face

Can boast a sweeter charm for me,
A truer, tenderer, dearer grace

Than blooming health bestow' d on thee :
For there thy well-tried love I see,

And read my blessings there.

* [From the third edition of this very ingenious Lady's poems,
published in 1804. Several other songs from the same polished pen,
appeared among a selection of national airs, which have been re-
ferred to in a note under Ritson's historical Essay.]

302 LOVE-SONGS.

SONG LXXXVIL

BY MISS SEWARD.

HAST thou escap'd the cannon's ire,

Loud thund'ring o'er the troubled main ?
Hast thou escap'd the fever's fire,

That burnt so fierce on India's plain ?
Then, William, then I can resign,

With scarce one sigh, the blooming grace
Which in thy form was wont to shine,

Which made so bright thy youthful face.

That face grows wan, by sultry clime ;

By watching, dim those radiant eyes ;
But valour gilds the wrecks of time,

Though youth decays, though beauty flies.
An honest heart is all to me,

Nor soil nor time makes that look old j
And dearer shall the jewel be,

Than youth or beauty, fame or gold

SONG LXXXVIII.
THE WIDOWER.

BY THE EDITOR.

FROM the dwelling of the widower there breathed a hol-
low moan,

With some one he seem'd talking, when I knew he was
alone :

LOVE-SONGS. . 303

I listened at the lattiqg of the chamber where he lay,
And thus, mid sobs of anguish, I plainly heard him say : —
* Thou livest in my bosom, Love ! though thou from

earth hast fled,
c And on thy widow'd pillow shall no other lay her head,'

Then sighs that seem'd to rive his heart, his utterance
quite drown' d,

And on his knees, with vehemence, he drop'd upon the
ground —

' Oh, give me strength, kind Heav'n ! (he cried) this
misery to bear ;

' Or, with the angel I have lost, take, take me to your
care :

( For she within my bosom lives, though from my pre-
sence fled,

1 And on her widow'd pillow shall no other lay her head,

1 When I retire to sleepless rest, I go with thrilling fears,

( When weary I arise from bed, my eyes are dim with
tears ;

e I think of her whose faithful love my blessing was and
pride,

' Who day and night for twice ten years seem'd safety
by my side ;

f And still within my bosom lives, though from my pre-
sence fled,

e Nor on her widow'd pillow shall another lay her head.

' Ah ! must not such lost treasure to memory be dear,
f When e'en the place that held it is all that now can
cheer ? —

S04

LOVE-SONGS.

' 'Tis sorrow's soothing nourishment to feed on pleasures

past,

* 'Tis true affection's covenant to live while life shall last :
( So live thou in my bosom, Love ! though thou to heav'n

art fled,
' For on thy widow 'd pillow I alone will lay my head/

END OF VOL. I

HARDING AND WRIGHT,

Printers,
St. John's Square, London.